7<r 
 
 GIFT OF 
 Mrs. May L. Cheney 
 
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BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
BY ORDER OF TBE CZAR. 
 
 A KOVHI<. 
 
 BY 
 
 JOSEPH HATTON, 
 
 Author of '' Clytie^ ''Cruel London;' ''The Great 
 
 Worlds etc., etc. 
 
 
 NEW YORK 
 JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 
 
 150 Worth Street, corner Mission PlacBi 
 
GIFT OP 
 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN W. LOVELL. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 In the summer of 1887 I came upon a pamphlet pub- 
 lished by The Times five years previously, giving an account 
 of the persecution of the Jews in Russia in 188 1. At about 
 the same time I found in the Brooklyn Ti?nes (U.S.) a 
 tragic incident in the alleged career of a Jewess, which 
 recalled to my mind a grim passage of Russian history. 
 These three records inspired the story I have just con- 
 cluded. It occurred to me to find in the one village of 
 Russia where the Jews had for a time lived unmolested, a 
 heroine who, falling under the lash of Russian persecution, 
 should survive the keenest of human afflictions, to become, 
 under very dramatic and romantic circumstances, the in 
 strument of Divine vengeance upon her enemy, and proba- 
 bly a type of the fierce injustice which characterizes the 
 civil and military government of Russia. My inspiration 
 for this tragic figure sprung from the following narrative, 
 related as absolutely true by Charles J. Rosebault, in the 
 Brooklyn Times during the month of June, 1887 : — 
 
 •' Not far from the police station on Elizabeth-street is a large three- 
 storey brick building. Years ago it was a handsome dwelling, but time 
 and the small boy have played havoc with its facade, doors, windows, 
 and railing. It is occupied by a well-to-do Russian, who years ago 
 fled his native land for alleged complicity in some plot against the 
 
 M49158 
 
rv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Czar. It has long been the rendezvous of political refugees of both 
 sexes, Russians, Nihilists, Polish Liberators, French Communards, 
 German Socialists, -and Cosmopolitan Anarchists. The circle met there 
 is composed of educated and clever people. Nearly all are excellent 
 linguists, and more or less successful in trade, literature, ^r professional 
 life. Owing probably to the terrible scenes in which they have been 
 actors, all are more or less eccentric in behavior, speech, or ideas. Not 
 long since a party of a dozen men and women were spending the even- 
 ing in the large old-fashioned parlor. All smoked, a few sipped the 
 vitriolic Vodka between the whiffs of their cigarettes, while all the rest 
 assuaged thirst with the cheap wines of the Rhine and Moselle. The 
 conversation had been political and literary rather than anecdotal in 
 character, and had flagged until the room was almost silent. The only 
 person speaking was a handsome Jewess of 24 or 25, whose name or 
 nom de guerre was Theodora Ornavitsch. She was of a rare type oj 
 that race,. being a superb blonde with bright golden hair, large lustrous 
 blue eyes, and exhibiting the powerful figure and splendid health which 
 characterize the Hebrew women to so remarkable a degree. As she 
 paused at the end of an argument and drained a glass of Josephshoefer> 
 some one asked, * What made you a Nihilist, Dora ? ' 
 
 *' ' Nothing very remarkable to us Russians,' she replied. * I belong 
 to a good family in a small town in the Warsaw Province. I married 
 the Rabbi of our Synagogue, and we were very happy for a few months. 
 The Czar then made a change, and sent down a new governor from 
 St. Petersburg to replace our old one, who was a good and just man, 
 although a Russian general. The new comer had every vice, and no 
 virtue of any kind. He was so bad and cruel that our friends and 
 relatives wrote us when he came warning us against him. My husband 
 the next Sabbath, in the Synagogue, told our people about him, and 
 advised them to be over cautious in not violating any one of the thou- 
 sand tyrannical laws with which we were cursed. Though he spoke in 
 Hebrew, for fear of spies, someone betrayed him to the governor. He 
 •was arrested, tried, flogged on the public square into insensibility, and 
 sent to Siberia for life. I was present when he underwent his agony, 
 and stood it until I became crazed. I broke through the crowd toward 
 the wretch of an official, and cursed him and his master, the Czar, and 
 swore vengeance against both. I, too, was arrested, tried at court- 
 martial, and sentenced to receive a hundred blows with the rod in the 
 public square. I, a woman, was taken by drunken Moujiks and hea- 
 then Cossacks to the place, tied by my hands to the whipping post, my 
 clothing torn from my body to the waist, and beaten before all the 
 
INTRODUCTION. v 
 
 soldiery and the people of the town. At the twentieth blow I fainted, 
 but the ropes held me up, and the full hundred were counted on my 
 body. They cut me down, rubbed rock salt and water and sqme iron 
 that eats like fire into my back to stop the bleeding, and carried me to 
 the hospital. 1 lay there two months, and was discharged . I had 
 but one idea then, and that was vengeance. By patience I managed to 
 get employment in the governor's palace as a seamstress. One after- 
 noon he was in his bath, and he sent for towels. The attendant was 
 tired, and I volunteered to take them. I threw them over my arm, and 
 under them I held a long stiletto, sharp as a needle. I entered the 
 room, and he was reading and smoking in the bath. I laid the towels 
 by his side with my left hand, and at the next moment with my right I 
 drove the knife through his heart. It was splendidly done. He never 
 made a sound, and I escaped to this land. That is why I am a Nihilist : 
 Do any of you doubt ? ' She sprang excitedly from her chair, and in 
 half a minute had bared herself to the waist. The front of her form from 
 neck to belt might have passed as the model of the Venus di Milo. But 
 the back ! Ridges, welts, and furrows that crossed and interlaced as if 
 cut out with a red-hot iron, patches of white, grey, pink, blue, and 
 angry red, holes and hollows with hard, hideous edges, half visible ribs 
 and the edges of ruined muscles, and all of which moved, contracted, 
 and lengthened with the swaying of her body. There was a gasp from 
 everyone present. The aged host rose, silently kissed her on the 
 forehead, and helped her to put back her garments. Then again the 
 wine passed round, and what secret toasts were made as the party drank 
 will never be known. " 
 
 The historic chapter which this newspaper paragraph 
 brought to my mind was the story of Madame Lapoukin ; 
 the briefest account of which is probably the following, 
 from The Kfiout^ by Germain de Lagny : — 
 
 In 1760, under the reign of the indolent and luxurious Elizabeth, 
 who had abolished capital punishment, Madame Lapoukin, a woman 
 of rare beauty, of which the Czarina was envious, was condemned to 
 the knout and transportation, in spite of the privilege of the nobility 
 never to suffer the former punishment. She had been feted, caressed, 
 and run after at court, and had, it was said, betrayed the secret of the 
 Empress' liaison with Prince Razoumowsky. She was conducted by 
 the executioners to the public square, where she was exposed by one of 
 
vi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 them, who rolled up her chemise as far as her waist ; he then placed 
 her upon his shoulders, when another arranged her with his coarse dirty 
 hands in the required position, obliging her to hold her head down, 
 while a man of the lower classes, squatting at her feet, kept her legs 
 still. The executioner cut her flesh into shreds by one hundred 
 strokes of the knout, from the shoulders to the lower portion of the 
 loins. After the infliction of the punishment, her tongue was torn out, 
 and a short time subsequently she was sent to Siberia, whence she was 
 recalled in 1762 by Peter III. 
 
 For the successful development of these journalistic 
 literary and historical facts and suggestions into a full 
 three volume novel, with truthful as well as characteristic 
 accessories, it was necessary that I should make a study 
 of Russian village life, and refresh my memory with such 
 chapters of Russian history as should enable me to hold 
 my imaginary characters and their actions within the rea- 
 sonable control of probability. I was already fairly well 
 acquainted with some of the best works of Russian fiction, 
 which are full of strong local color and fine characterization, 
 Gogol's stories more particularly, but in order that I might 
 not stray from the path of truth any further than is rea- 
 sonably permissible, I followed up the narrative of The 
 Times y in the files of the Daily Telegraph and X\\q Jewish 
 Chrofiicle; traced the anti-Jewish riots throughout their 
 lurid march of fire and bloodshed j talked to several traveled 
 authorities as to their experiences of Jewish life in South- 
 ern Russia ; and settled down to a careful study of the 
 literary, topographical, political and historical literature of 
 the subject, in the course of which, for the purposes of this 
 story, I have consulted and read : "The Jews and their 
 Persecutors," by Eugenie Lawrence ; " Scenes from the 
 Ghetto," by Leopold Kompert ; " The Knout and the 
 Russians," by Germain de Lagny ; " Elizabeth, or the 
 Exiles of Siberia," by Madame Cottin ; " Russia under the 
 Czars," by Stepniak ; " Prison Life in Siberia " and '• Crime 
 and Punishment," by Fedor DostoifTsky ; " The Russian 
 
INTRODUCTION, vii^ 
 
 Revolt," by Edmund Noble ; "The Jews of Barnow," by 
 Karl Emil Franzos ; '' Russia, Political and Social," by L. 
 Tikhanirov; "Called Back," by Hugh Conway; "Dead 
 Souls," by Nikolai V. Gogol; "War and Peace," and 
 " Anna Karenina," by Count Tolstoi ; " A Hero of our 
 Time," by M. V. Lermontoff; "Russia before and after 
 the War," by the Author of " Society as it is in St. Peters- 
 burg," " The Encyclopaedia Britannica," " Russians of To- 
 day," by the Author of " The Member for Paris ; " " The 
 Russian Peasantry," by Stepniak ; " Stories from Russia, 
 Siberia, Poland and Circassia," edited by Russell Lee ; 
 "Chambers' Encyclopaedia ;" George Kennan's Century 
 papers on "Plains and Prisons of Western Siberia," and 
 " Across the Russian Frontier ; " Theodore Child's " Fair 
 of Nijnii-Novogorod " in Harper's Magazine; The Times 
 pamphlet (before mentioned), " Persecutions of the Jews in 
 Russia, 1881 ; " "Venice," by Yriarte ; " Venetian Life," by 
 Howells ; " Sketches from Venetian History ; " " New Ita- 
 lian Sketches," by J. A. Symonds, and other miscellanous 
 literature. It will be seen that I name these works without 
 any view to classification or order. A foreign criticism 
 upon the Venetian chapter of the story makes it desirable 
 for me to state that the introduction of a Russian interest 
 in the Royal FStes on the Grand Canal is pure invention. 
 The pageantry is true enough ; the presence of the King 
 and Queen of Italy ; the illumination and the rest ; but 
 the red gondola and the ghost of the lagoons belong to the 
 region of fancy ; though they might easily have formed 
 part of the events of the time. I saw a dead swimmer 
 towed into an English fishing port under very similar cir- 
 cumstances to those which I have described as occurring 
 in the waters of the Adriatic. 
 
 With all due apologies for this personal note, I venture 
 to express a hope that my readers may feel an interest in 
 the Milbankes, the Forsyths, the Chetwynds, and the 
 
viii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Klosstocks. If I shall make these people half as real to 
 them as they are to me, they will keep them in their 
 remembrance as acquaintances, if not as friends ; and in 
 reflective moments their hearts will go out to an old man 
 and his daughter who in the spirit of chastened content 
 are fulfilling their voluntary exile, their happiness a dream 
 of the past, their chief hope in a future "• where the wicked 
 cease from troubling and the weary are at rest." 
 
 J.H. 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE KLOSSTOCKS. 
 
 She might have sat to Titian, as the lovely daughter of a 
 Doge of Venice in the romantic days of Christian chivalry ; 
 and yet she was only the daughter of a PoHsh Jew, and 
 lived on sufferance in the Russian village of Czarovna. 
 
 The God of Jew and Gentile alike is kind in hiding from 
 all His creatures the book of Fate, otherwise Anna Kloss- 
 tock might have cursed the hour in which she was born. 
 Nevertheless at the opening of this history we find her 
 rejoicing in her life, and grateful to her Creator for the 
 exceptional blessings with which her girlhood was endowed. 
 She had — above all things desired of woman — the gift of 
 beauty; and as there is no beauty without health. Provi- 
 dence had blessed her with a physical capacity for enjoy- 
 ment, and an intellectuality beyond that which as a rule 
 accompanies the comely attraction of good looks. 
 
 Indeed, at the beginning of this story of persecution, 
 love and vengeance, it might have seemed to the optimis- 
 tic philosopher that Fate had gone down into the lowliest 
 walks of life to prove the equality of the general distribu- 
 tion of happiness, and that Anna Klosstock had been 
 selected as an example of the divine impartiality. For 
 although Anna lived only in the shadow of liberty, she 
 had never known what its sunshine is, and in her captivity 
 was a queen — the elect of every man, woman and child of 
 
4 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 the community i1n which she'^as/born. It is true her sub- 
 jects wer^ a despised • race, but the Ghetto or Pale of 
 Settlement in the p-opuloiis'vihage of Czarovna was the 
 most contented, the happiest, the most flourishing of the 
 Jewish towns of Southern Russia ; so much so, indeed, 
 that instead of encouraging the Imperial Government to 
 persevere in a policy of liberality towards both Jew and 
 Gentile, it had more than once excited the suspicion, fear, 
 and duplicity of the reigning powers. At Czarovna both 
 Jew and Christian lived on fairly amicable terms. The 
 Governor, General Ivan Poltava, credited the peace of it 
 to the exceptional liberality of the merchant, Nathan 
 Klosstock, Anna's father; but General Poltava was as 
 great a rarity of honesty in the administration of his office 
 as Nathan Klosstock was of generosity in a Jew merchant. 
 Were there more of such there would be fewer troubles in 
 the land; though neither Russian Imperial policy nor the 
 local Hebrew education tend to develop just and upright 
 governors, or fair-dealing and high-minded Jewish sub- 
 jects. 
 
 Czarovna was an example of how possible it is, even 
 under the grinding laws of Russia, for a community of 
 mixed nationalities and alien races to live, if not in har- 
 mony, at least without the miseries of a perpetual feud j 
 but there was an unusual principle of give and take on 
 both sides between the Jews and Christians of this excep- 
 tional village in the province of Vilnavitch. 
 
 If the Jews in Russia are tainted with the worst charac- 
 teristics of the race, their grasping and dogmatic idiosyn- 
 crasies are the result of a systematic and cruel persecution. 
 The conditions under which they exist are miserable beyond 
 all imagination. They suffer again the persecutions of 
 Egypt, without the hope or prospect of deliverance. The 
 Imperial legislation of St. Petersburg seems to aim at 
 nothing short of their annihilation. They are legislated 
 
^Y ORDER OF THE CZAR, ' 5 
 
 for as if they were a criminal class — condemned to pass 
 their Hves in circumscribed districts. The ancient Ghetto 
 of the Middle Ages exists for them in some districts of 
 Russia with all its penal severities. They may not own 
 an inch of Russian land ; they may only occupy themselves 
 in certain limited licensed businesses ; they are compelled 
 at intervals to present themselves at certain official stations 
 for the purpose of reporting themselves and renewing their 
 passports ; they are open to insult and derision at the 
 hands of any Christian who chooses morally and physically 
 to wipe his feet upon them. Nevertheless, as a class, they 
 succeed in ekeing out an existence and maintaining a reli- 
 gious independence with an obstinacy that is little less than 
 miraculous. The intensity of their application to the art 
 of money-making also develops, even under the severest 
 conditions, a moneyed class. In every village there is at 
 least one rich Jew — a local Shylock — who lends money at 
 usury, buys up or mortgages the crops of his urban neigh- 
 bor, rents some noble's distillery, controls the taverns, and 
 commands from his co-religionists the respect which is 
 denied him by his Christian fellow-subjects. The child of 
 a thousand years of ill-treatment, it is not to be expected 
 that he will deal any more charitably with the Christian 
 than the Christian deals with him. If the Christian despises 
 him, be sure he hates the Christian with a deadly hatred. 
 Should his child, under the milder influence of Christian 
 precepts, give way to a proselytizing influence, she or he 
 is considered dead to all intents and purposes, the bitter 
 feehng going so far as to comprehend a funeral service, 
 with an empty coffin and a cemetery record. There is no 
 forgiveness for the deserter among the Russian Jews. 
 
 Nathan Klosstock would probably have resented as 
 fiercely as Shylock himselFthe defection of his only daugh- 
 ter Anna, although in his financial reign at Czarovna he 
 had won the title among the better c^ass of Christians of a 
 
6 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 liberal Jew. Under the unusually mild governorship of 
 General Poltava the strict limits of the Ghetto had been 
 practically wiped out. The mayor of the little town, being 
 particularly anxious to stand well with the General, who 
 lived in an old palace on the uplands overlooking the 
 straggling village, acted with an outward show of sympa- 
 thy for the Governor's mild and beneficent edicts. 
 
 Czarovna chiefly consisted of one long broad street, with 
 houses and shops in a strange picturesque jumble, a fine 
 church, and in this case a more or less dilapidated palace 
 on the outskirts, in which the Governor (who in this 
 instance also exercised authority over much of the sur- 
 rounding district, with the approval of the Governor- 
 General of the vast province of Vilnavitch) resided, and 
 the barracks where there were generally quartered a troop of 
 Hussars. At the northern end of the town, creeping up 
 from the rocky bed of the river, that wound its way into 
 the distant forest, was the Jewish quarter, which even in 
 this exceptional district considered it necessary to put on 
 an outward appearance of poverty in keeping with tradition, 
 but which had many contrary examples to show to those 
 who excited in them no dread of plunder. 
 
 The house of Moses Grunstein, for instance, externally 
 looked what it professed to be, the abode and warehouse 
 of a struggling trader and merchant, who found it difficult 
 to make both ends meet ; but in reality it was in its way a 
 palace, with a subterranean annex, that was one of the 
 mysteries of Czarovna, and its owner's particular and 
 special secret. Nathan Klosstock, however, made but 
 little disguise of his prosperity, for he believed no one 
 grudged him his wealth, because he made good use of it, 
 and was as generous as any Christian could possibly be, 
 and far more so than many really were. But the native 
 who lives in the track of the tornado grows accustomed to 
 danger. People live»without fear beneath the shadow of 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. *§ 
 
 Vesuvius. Every man is mortal but oneself. There might 
 be troubles in other villages of Southern Russia, but to 
 Nathan Klosstock Czarovna was safe. Life is a matter of 
 habit ; one may become used to anything. Happiness is 
 a question of comparison. A prisoner having been sub- 
 ject to a severe discipline is awakened one morning with 
 the companionship of his dog ; in future he is to have 
 books, there is a jar of flowers in his cell, he may take 
 exercise, and he is to suffer no more hard labor : he thinks 
 himself the happiest man in the world. Nathan Klosstock, 
 though recognized in a friendly way by the Governor, had 
 to cringe and grovel before the great landlords, and he 
 dared not resent the bold looks and insolent compliments 
 which were now and then paid to Anna by some of his 
 noble patrons. But oh, my brethren, to what a gulf of 
 misery and death he was walking all this time, he and his ! 
 — the way strewn with flowers, as if to enhance the horrors 
 of the impending gulf — walking hand in hand to the music 
 of their own grateful hearts, at which every fiend in hell 
 might have laughed, so grim, so awful was the pit that 
 Fate had cast in their way. 
 
 During some years past a few of the later generations 
 of Jews had ventured, with proper authorization, to live 
 in the town proper and its outskirts, where they could see 
 the sky and have the privilege here and there of something 
 like rural occupation. There were troubles now and then 
 with such of, these as the Governor permitted to hold 
 taverns or public-houses, and it was no doubt a legitimate 
 complaint on the part of the poorer class of farmers that 
 these miserable Jews, having lent money to the even more 
 miserable mujiks, encouraged them to drink and spend 
 the money they had borrowed. But whenever anything 
 like a serious situation was developed in this direction 
 Nathan Klosstock came forward and settled it. He had 
 also propitiated the few nobles and better class of land 
 
8 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 cultivators in the province, by fair and honorable advances 
 of money, at fair and honorable rates. He was the general 
 merchant of the district, dealing in everything ; was a ship- 
 ping agent, importing goods from almost every part of the 
 world ; was a pleasant, hearty, genial, fairly educated man, 
 and had induced the young rabbi Marcus I^osinski, of St.- 
 Petersburg, to take up his residence as the Chief Rabbi at 
 Czarovna. Klosstock's house was the Mecca of many 
 traveling pedlars, students, and beggars. He was known 
 throughout all the lands where Jews are known. His wife 
 during her short lifetime had been worthy of his fame, and 
 his daughter Anna was a lovely type of Semitic beauty, 
 with a grace of manner that was eminently in keeping with 
 the name she bore. 
 
 The Klosstocks lived at the very entrance to the Ghetto, 
 where in olden days the gates that had shut in the narrow 
 streets of the despised community had swung night and 
 morning upon their grating hinges, to the order of the 
 hostile guardian whom the Jews themselves had to pay 
 for exercising his barbaric authority over them. It was 
 an unpretentious house, though somewhat glaringly paint- 
 ed ; and it served as shop, counting-house, office, museum, 
 and living apartments, where Klosstock's forefathers had 
 founded the little fortune which had prospered in the 
 hands of their now aged son. 
 
 It was after a visit to the province of Vilnavitch, and a 
 pleasant call, eii route, at the house of Klosstock, that 
 Nathan had induced the young and distinguished rabbi to 
 accept the vacancy at Czarovna. Not that the rich Jew 
 had given his daughter to Losinski, as he might have done, 
 but he had promised him that if he should find favor in 
 Anna's eyes the betrothal should take place as soon as 
 possible. Anna had already received much more than the 
 customary tuition which the Jews of her father's class 
 permit to their daughters. She could speak German, had 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 9 
 
 a fair knowledge of French, was almost learned in Biblical 
 lore, and had the natural taste of her race for music. Her 
 voice and her lute were heard at the Jewish festivals, and 
 her charities might have won the commendation of the 
 strictest worshippers of that Messiah for whom her race 
 suffer still under the ban of having crucified. 
 
 Marcus Losinski, coming to take charge of the morals 
 and religion of the Jews of Czarovna, was to Anna a pil- 
 grim of light from the outer world. He was wiser than 
 his years ; had traveled through the East, even to Jerusa- 
 lem. He could tell her of the wonders of the great 
 capitals. He had fulfilled missions to Paris and London, 
 although he was only some ten or fifteen years her senior. 
 
 No queen could have held Losinski in a firmer allegiance 
 of love and worship than Anna the Queen of the Ghetto. 
 
 '* It is accounted a sin among the Christians," he had 
 one day said to her, " to love even maid or wife beyond 
 the man they have made their God ; and I am glad to 
 have been born a Jew, Anna, if it were only to be untram- 
 meled by law, human or divine, in my love for you." 
 
 " Do you not think," Anna replied, " that God's laws 
 are as easy as man's are difficult. 
 
 " Yes, Anna, truly I do. Religion lies not in law nor in 
 knowledge, but in a pure and holy life." 
 
 " And yet, dear love," said Anna, " I sometimes think 
 you chafe here in Czarovna, and long for a wider sphere of 
 usefulness." 
 
 *' It is not so, Anna. My ambition is satisfied to be 
 with you, whatever my sphere of work ; but sometimes I 
 wonder if it were not wise to leave this land of doubt and 
 fear, and travel further afield where our people are not ever- 
 lastingly within the clutch of tyranny and abuse, where 
 indeed they are safe from public persecution and private 
 contumely." 
 
 *' Ah, you envy Andrea Ferrari," Anna replied. " You 
 
lo BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 would like to go up and down the world as he docs, see- 
 ing fresh peoples, noting the wonders of strange lands.*' 
 
 " Nay ; I have seen much of the great world, Anna. 
 My only desire is to be sure that your future shall be as 
 happy as your past ; that neither you nor your father may 
 ever be the victims of some sudden change of policy on 
 the part of the Government. For myself, my life is 
 nothing to me if it brings no special good lo you. Mar- 
 tyrdom in such a cause would be happiness." 
 
 *' You are sad ! " Anna said quickly. *' Do not talk of 
 martyrdom ; you make my heart stand still. What mar- 
 tyrdom, dear love, could there possibly be for you in my 
 behalf?" 
 
 " None that would be martyrdom," said Losinski. 
 " But how do we come to be talking in such a doleful 
 strain ? Forgive me, Anna, Ferrari comes to your father's 
 house presently. I met him an hour ago at the barber's. 
 He is particular about his toilette when he comes to see 
 the Queen of the Ghetto.' 
 
 "He is very welcome," said Anna. "Is he net some- 
 thing like the dove returning to the ark with news of the 
 outer world ? There are no books of travel so interesting 
 as the travelers themselves." 
 
 " For 'which sentiment,*' said a voice in the doorway, 
 " I return you my best thanks ; and I believe, if I am not 
 considered too egotistical, that I am of your opinion. 
 
 "Ah, Signor Ferrari," exclaimed Anna, rising, "wel- 
 come ; it is true we were talking of you." 
 
 " Again good-day to you," said Losinski. " Anna find- 
 ing me in a Soleful mood began to talk of you ; I hope 
 you will make us merry." 
 
 " That must be our duty to Andrea," remarked Nathan, 
 the master of the house, who had entered the room with 
 the traveler ; " our guest has journeyed far and wants rest 
 and refreshment. He reserves for after dinner his news 
 
^V ORDER OF THE CZAR, II 
 
 and gossip — and he has news that is not altogether good, 
 he says ; so let us eat, drink and be merry, for the present 
 is ours, and who knows aught of the morrow? Come, 
 Anna, be of good cheer." 
 
 " Nay, I am, dear father ; and our good friend Signor 
 Ferrari shall tell us of his city in the sea. That will make 
 him happy, and we will share his joy. You have only 
 good news from Venice ? " 
 
 " None other, dear mistress," the Italian replied ; 
 " Venice is paradise." 
 
 '* Venice is your home, signor ; and home is paradise 
 wherever it is. Come, let us go to dinner." 
 
 Nathan smiled at Ferrari and laid his hand lovingly on 
 Anna's slioulder as they left the small entrance hall or 
 porchway into the general room of the old house, where 
 dinner was ready. 
 
 " It is a sentiment that does you honor as well as your 
 daughter," said the Italian in reply; but turning to Los- 
 inski he added, " Is it good after all, a Providence that 
 gives the children of the desert a proverb instead of a 
 home ? " 
 
 *' God be thanked," said the rabbi, "for the comfort of 
 Anna's loving sentiment." 
 
 '^ Amen," said Ferrari : " long live the grateful heart ; " 
 and then to himself, *' Shall we, the so-called chosen, always 
 have to fawn on the hand that smites us ? " 
 
13 
 
 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HAPPY CZAROVNA. 
 
 It was an interesting and characteristic group, the Kloss- 
 tock household, with Ferrari and Losinski as guests, a 
 few days before the year of Anna's bethrothal to the 
 young and learned rabbi was ended. They sat round 
 about the great stove, after dinner, Klosstock in his brown 
 gabardine, looking venerable and picturesque ; the young 
 rabbi similariy attired but in black, a heavy signet ring 
 upon the forefinger of his right hand, his face singularly 
 handsome, with soft, dreamy, hazel eyes, a brown beard, 
 not unlike the beard which painters give to their imagin- 
 ary portraits of Christ ; Andrea Ferrari, the Italian Jew 
 traveler, a shrewd, keen-looking man of middle height, 
 with a watchful manner, a dark olive complexion, a strag- 
 gling black beard and moustache, a low compact forehead, 
 as much of his mouth as you could see denoting firmness 
 of character, his hand strong and nervous, boney, almost 
 clawlike, .his dress of a far more artistic cut than the others, 
 with a girdle of tanned leather and of ample proportions, 
 large enough and strong enough to carry treasures even 
 more valuable than their weight in gold ; and hidden in 
 his breast both knife and pistol — for while Andrea could 
 play the humble Jew, he knew also how to protect himself 
 on occasion. There had been times when he had found it 
 useful — and his conscience took no affront at it — to pass 
 himself off as a Christian citizen of Venice. He hated 
 Russia with the intensity of aa unforgiving nature ; his 
 father, an inoffensive pedlar in the land, having lost his 
 life in a street brawl at the hands of a drunken crew of 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 13 
 
 Moscow revelers, his mother falling a victim to grief at 
 her husband's death. 
 
 Apart from these inducements to revenge, Andrea 
 Ferrari had imbibed the doctrines and some of the hopes 
 of the latest propaganda of the Nihilists of Russia ; but 
 this he kept a strict secret in his own breast, he well know- 
 ing that in Russia even a secret so well guarded as his 
 sometimes gets out, not by open or private confession, but 
 through a keenly interpreted look, a sudden interrogation, 
 or an ill-considered remark. 
 
 The somewhat sinister expression of Andrea's face, a 
 habit he had of dropping his eyes, an introspective 
 manner, was very much in contrast with the frank, open 
 countenances of the host, the rabbi, and the young girl 
 who was not only known within the Pale of the Settlement 
 as the Queen of the Ghetto, but outside the Jews' quarter 
 as the good daughter of the Liberal Jew. 
 
 Anna loved to hear Andrea Ferrari talk of his travels, 
 and the rabbi, by whose side she sat, an attentive listener 
 to the general conversation, was also much interested in 
 him. 
 
 " Tell Anna," said the rabbi, *' of Venice ; of those 
 olden days of our people, and how our brethren have 
 progressed in wealth, in power,^and in freedom ; moreover, 
 such advancement is an encouragement for hope, even here 
 in Russia." 
 
 " Would to God that all our neighbors, far and near," 
 said Klosstock, lighting his big German pipe, *' were as 
 well considered and as justly protected in their rights as 
 we of Czarovna ! " 
 
 *' Rights ! " exclaimed Andrea, in a fierce but suppressed 
 lone, " what rights, my father? " 
 
 '^ The right to live without being beaten — the right to 
 pray to the God of our Fathers — the right to buy and sell." 
 
 " Yes, we are well oif at Czarovna," remarked the 
 
14 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 rabbi ; " but that should not make us content when our 
 brethren in the east and west are ground under the heel, 
 beaten in the streets, cast into prison, crucified ; and even 
 here in the south, Czarovna is one of the few exceptions, 
 where we may do more than herd together like animals 
 content to feed on the husks their masters fling to them. 
 But it was so in Venice, where to-day our brethren hold up 
 their heads in the blessed sun, and walk with the Christian 
 merchants, their equals in respect and in power. 
 
 "Not quite that," said Andrea, "but of a sufficient 
 freedom of action and life ; it is only in London where it 
 may be said the Jew is equal to the Christian. And if it 
 were not that some of our brethren, steeped in the preju- 
 dices and vices that have been engendered of a thousand 
 years of persecution, did not trespass upon the English 
 liberal and human sentiment by ill acts that we as a 
 community would be the first ourselves to punish, London 
 would come to forget entirely that a man were Jew or 
 Gentile, except, if he were a Jew, to glorify him all the 
 more for his good works. It is thus that we are cursed 
 from generation to generation ; the offspring of the dead, 
 bitter past, the child of persecution, the seed of misery 
 and dependence, waxes strong, and in his strength de- 
 velops the cunning of a past in which it was his only 
 weapon, and brings down upon individuals the curses of 
 even the great liberal-minded people of London." 
 
 " It thou wert not a Jew, and true as the ring of thine 
 own gold, Andrea Ferrari, thy words would be thine own 
 condemnation ; but, friend of many countries, do thou tell 
 our daughter Anna of that city of tlie sea, which is like 
 the dream of a poet rather than a sober incident, from the 
 book of real experience ; and whither our dear son, the 
 rabbi, doth propose to travel with our loving daughter 
 Anna — mayhap accompanied by their father — what sayest 
 thou, Anna ? " 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 15 
 
 '* It is too much happiness to think upon," she replied. 
 
 "You may go to bed, Amos Negrusz," said Klosstock, 
 addressing a serving-man, whom both the rabbi and 
 Ferrari had eyed with something like suspicion. The 
 man bowed, but said nothing, not even "Good-night.'* 
 He was a sinister-looking person, and had probably 
 noticed a certain watchfulness on the part of the guests 
 that was peculiar to their manner on this occasion, for 
 though he had only been in the Jew Klosstock's ser- 
 vice a few weeks, he had come with such excellent creden- 
 tials, and was so willing and so anxious to all appearance 
 to please, that both the rabbi and the master were inclined 
 to trust him, and to regard him as an acquisition to the 
 household. 
 
 " Forgive me," said the rabbi, lifting the heavy curtain 
 over the door whence Amos Negrusz had disappeared, and 
 standing for a moment in a listening attitude, " and I will 
 explain later." 
 
 Klosstock looked inquiringly at his daughter, whose 
 hand seeking his, he raised it to his lips, and she laid her 
 head upon his shoulder. 
 
 " I do not like the man Amos," said the rabbi, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " Nor do I," added Ferrari. 
 
 " Nay, what has the poor fellow done ? " asked Kloss- 
 tock. " You thought him a good man and useful, my 
 son, until now." 
 
 "I did," said the rabbi. "It is only to-day that I 
 doubt him ; only to-night that I fear him." 
 
 " Fear him ? " said Klosstock. " Do I hear aright ? " 
 
 ** Where did he come from ? " asked the Italian. 
 
 " From Elizabethgrad," said Klosstock. 
 
 " Recommended by one worthy of trust ? " 
 
 " Yes, truly," replied Klosstock, " the merchant Chane." 
 
 " I thought so," said Ferrari significantly. " Do you 
 know the merchant Chane ? " 
 
|6 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 ^' Not to speak with him," said Klosstock, " but I know 
 him by repute as one whose word is his bond, and who 
 has large possessions." 
 
 " Ha ! " ejaculated the Italian, rising and pacing the 
 room for a moment, and at the same time pausing near 
 tjie door, as if he listened for footsteps. 
 
 " Do you know him ? " asked the rabbi. 
 
 " I do," said Ferrari. 
 
 " I fear a cloud is gathering about us," said the rabbi, 
 " but one which may break far away if we are careful. I 
 have kept watch over my words this evening that your 
 servant might not hear of the warnings which have reached 
 me within the last few hours from a trusted friend in St. 
 Petersburg." 
 
 " Is it touching the new Governor ? " said Ferrari inter- 
 rupting him. 
 
 " It is," said the rabbi. 
 
 " Alas, I can indorse it ; and I, too, have observed a 
 reticent demeanor^ for the reason that this Amos is not 
 what he represents himself to be." 
 
 " Forewarned is forearmed," said the rabbi. " The new 
 Governor is on his way to Czarovna ; it may be possible to 
 propitiate him ; I know that it is possible for him to 
 reduce our Hves to the miserable level of those of our 
 brethren at Kiew. That we are an exception is due to 
 exceptional causes. The hand of persecution lies heavy 
 on our brethren all round about us." 
 
 ** Our brethren are themselves much to blame," said 
 Klosstock. " They make hard bargains ; they thrive on 
 the Christian need ; they do no acts of charity outside the 
 Pale of Settlement ; they forget that God made us all." 
 
 " They remember," said Ferrari, " that the Christian has 
 ground them beneath his heel ; they remember that from 
 age to age in all countries they have been harried by 
 Christian fire and sword; and that even in these days of 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 17 
 
 so-called charity and education, and especially in this land 
 of the Czar, they are the victims of harsh laws, aliens alike 
 from freedom and justice, and compelled to kiss the rod 
 that stripes them. No, my father, blame them not that 
 they take their revenge," '* 
 
 '' But I do blame them, my son," said Klosstock, " and 
 I present to them and to you the example of Czarovna as 
 proof of the good that comes out of toleration." 
 
 " Toleration ! " exclaimed the Italian, but in a hoarse 
 whisper. '* The merchant Chane is a tolerant man. 
 Hush ! But we alarm our good young hostess." 
 
 " I have spoken something of this to Anna already," 
 said the rabbi, "and we are accustomed to discuss many 
 things outside the ordinary lines of education." 
 
 Anna crept closer to her father's side, and looked up 
 wistfully at the handsome young savant who was to be 
 her husband within the next few days, and whom she 
 loved with the devotion of her fervent and affectionate 
 nature. 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 **A BOLT FROM THE BLUE." 
 
 A WARM ruddy glow from the great stove fell lovingly 
 upon the group, which had an Oriental picturesqueness of 
 detail that might to an artist have recalled the lights and 
 shadows of the master painters of old, with the exception 
 that there was something modern in the beauty of Anna, 
 with her violet eyes, her rich red-gold hair, and her fresh 
 complexion : a beauty more akin to pure Venetian than 
 to that of the Semitic race. 
 
 " Anna, it were well thou went to rest," said Klosstock ; 
 " our guest and friend Andrea is over anxious about this 
 new governor. He will alarm thee ; and even our dear 
 Losinski is inclined to exaggerate the possibilities of the 
 
 2 
 
|8 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 change in the governorship. It is true we are parting 
 with a kind and benevolent man, and we should rejoice in 
 his promotion." 
 
 " If it is promotion," said Ferrari. 
 
 " Yes, my son, it is — the Governor has told me so him- 
 self; and as a good wife makes a good husband, so do 
 good subjects make good governments, and there is some 
 truth in the credit which General Poltava gives to me for 
 the peace and happiness we enjoy in Czarovna. I have 
 conciliated our masters, propitiated our neighbors, our 
 people have placed their interests in my keeping. I have 
 in my dealings followed the example of my father ; and 
 the result of this policy is seen in the gates of the Ghetto 
 having for years rusted on their hinges, unused and for- 
 gotten, and in the neighborly relationship of Christian and 
 Jew, such as exists at this day, Ferrari — as you were telling 
 me when last you favored us with your welcome presence 
 — in that city of the sea, which once was the seat of perse- 
 cutions and butcheries of our race beyond the power of 
 pen or tongue to describe." 
 
 * It is so, my father ; and it would be to Southern 
 Russia as if the Messiah were with them, could our people 
 enjoy the blessings their brethren enjoy in Venice and in 
 London." 
 
 " And in regard to which Czarovna stands only second, 
 eh, Ferrari ? " 
 
 " Czarovna has many blessings," said the Italian. 
 
 " Thou art my blessing, Anna," said Klosstock, *' and 
 it grows late." 
 
 The Jewish maiden rose, embraced her father, took her 
 leave of the rabbi and their guest, and taking up a quaint 
 old lamp retired, her heart full of the hope that if she and 
 he whom she loved did bend their steps to other lands 
 where the original yoke of the Egyptians had indeed fallen 
 clean away from the Jewish shoulders, her father might be 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 19 
 
 induced to accompany them ; though she knew how he 
 would cling at last to the spot where her mother, the 
 beloved wife of his youth, lay in her everlasting bed. But 
 she hoped all would be as she wished, and she was glad 
 that the journey had been talked of before the rabbi's 
 friendly messenger had brought the bad bad news, which 
 might otherwise have made the departure of her father 
 seem like an act of desertion. 
 
 " Listen, both of you — Nathan Klosstock and you, my 
 dear friend Losinski," said Ferrari. "The butchers are 
 abroad. The red fury of barbarism is once more march- 
 ing through the land. The prediction that the anti-Semitic 
 trouble of Germany would spread to Russia has been 
 pushed on by Panslavist emissaries from Moscow. The 
 flame has broken out at Elizabethgrad. The Jews, being 
 forewarned of trouble, applied to the authorities for pro- 
 tection. They were treated with scorn. While I speak to 
 you the Jews' quarter is a wreck. Placards were issued, 
 informing the orthodox Russians that the property of the 
 Jews had been given over to them, and that they might 
 take it. The Government did not deny the outrageous 
 notification. The orthodox rose. The military being called 
 out presented themselves at the scene of the massacre, but 
 only to look on, their criminal sympathy with the mob only 
 tending to encourage the cruel excesses." 
 
 " Didst thou say massacre ? " asked Klosstock, looking 
 aghast at the Italian. 
 
 *' I said massacre. But it was worse than massacre, my 
 father ; twenty-five good women, our dear sisters, were 
 violated, ten dying in consequence." 
 
 " Holy Father ! " exclaimed the rabbi. 
 
 "At the house of one Mordecai Wienarski, the mob, 
 disappointed of plunder, caught up his child and hurled it 
 through the window. The infant fell dead at the feet of a 
 company of Cossacks, but they moved neither to take it 
 
ao BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 up nor to arrest the murderers. Two thousand of our 
 brethren are houseless : six have gone to their long rest ; 
 many are grievously wounded, and the community has 
 been plundered of property of the value of forty thousand 
 English pounds." 
 
 " Thou strikest me dumb, Ferrari ! " said the host. 
 " What dost thou advise ? 
 
 '* Nay, calm yourself," said Losinski ; " this is not the 
 first rising against our brethren ; and while all Russia has 
 suffered much in this way, do not forget that Czarovna 
 has been free from trouble. We must not seem to know 
 of this terrible news ; we must show no fear ; we must not 
 let it change our manner towards our neighbors ; General 
 Poltava is still with us, and his officers are kind and 
 considerate." 
 
 " Do not be deceived," said Ferrari \ " to-morrow, per- 
 haps to-night, your new governor will arrive at the palace j 
 I passed him on the way ; he was traveling incognito. By 
 this time General Poltava is under arrest." 
 
 Klosstock leaned back in his chair and groaned. 
 
 *' I almost hate myself for being the bearer of such ill- 
 tidings," said Ferrari ; ** it is the bolt from the blue. 
 I found you steeped in the happiness of virtue, good-feel- 
 ings and sweet content ; I am a moral earthquake to your 
 household bliss. But it is in one's happiest hours that 
 Fate strikes us down." 
 
 " Let us pray ! " said the rabbi. 
 
 Nathan Klosstock fell upon his knees in a paroxysm of 
 grief. Ferrari bowed his head, mumbling to himself that 
 he would rather cut the throat of the servant Negrusz, 
 before he had time to do him, at least, a mischief 
 
 The rabbi offered up an eloquent appeal to the God of 
 their Fathers, recalling the many favors He had accorded 
 to His chosen people, and especially the blessings He had 
 vouchsafed to Czarovna, bewailing the persecutions which 
 
:by order of the czar. 21 
 
 His people suffered round about them, and more especially 
 asking for the protection of this house of Klosstock, and 
 of His servant Anna, light of her father's old age, and 
 soon with His favor to be a wife unto the humble peti- 
 tioner, and so on — a prayer of faith and hope and humility, 
 to which Klosstock said '^ Amen," and Ferrari '* So mote 
 it be ! " 
 
 Then there was a dead pause, and the three men stood 
 up and listened, as if they expected an answer to the rabbi's 
 prayer in the shape of some good omen or token of peace. 
 But all was still as death, except for the howl of some 
 restless dog in a distant street. 
 
 The moon had risen and was pouring its beams into her 
 chamber as Anna set down her lamp upon a quaint old 
 chest by the window. She sat right in the midst of the lunar 
 radiance and thought how beautiful it was, how lovely 
 was life — her life — what rich blessings God had lavished 
 upon her. There was not a single tremor of fear in her 
 heart. If trouble was coming to Czarovna, she and those 
 she most loved would be able to leave it. It would have 
 been too much to have expected her to think of any others 
 at that moment besides her father and her lover. Nor could 
 she realize the bitterness of a persecution which she had 
 not felt, and which Czarovna had not known in her time ; 
 and while the rabbi had spoken of these things, he had 
 been jealous not to overshadow Anna's happiness with 
 tales of horrors, the recitation of which, while they might 
 cast a shadow upon her thoughts, could serve no useful pur- 
 pose. For she was born with sensibilities and a sympa- 
 thetic nature, and would find in life itself, as she grew 
 older, quite enough that was sad, without lavishing her 
 sympathies upon sorrows and troubles she could neither 
 influence, amend, nor control. 
 
 Anna did not dream of the shadowy form that crept 
 out of the moonlight, crouching beneath her window, as 
 
as BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 she closed the shutters and betook herself to her prayers. 
 Neither did the rabbi, nor the guest, nor good old Father 
 Klosstock. For the three men now lighted fresh pipes, 
 and gathered about the stove to be free and confidential 
 in their conversation, Anna having retired. 
 
 " This new governor," said Ferrari, " is General Petro- 
 novitch, a man of a cruel disposition, who hates our 
 chosen people, and aids and abets their persecution. 
 Nay, dear host, my good friend, be not impatient with me. 
 I know what I say ; know more than I dare to communi- 
 cate to you ; know more than some might say I ought ; 
 more I hope than is good for such as Petronovitch." 
 
 " I have never asked thee, Ferrari, whence thou comest, 
 or whither thou goest ; but I trust to thy love and dis- 
 cretion not to compromise this household with anything 
 that can be called political." 
 
 " Your trust is well placed ; I am here for the last time. 
 Czarovna will see me no more, nor, indeed, will Russia, 
 after I leave her accursed soil on this last journey. 
 Indeed, but for the love I bear you and your daughter I 
 should have not been here to say farewell ; for I passed a 
 long distance out of the way I was going to bring you the 
 warning which the rabbi Losinski has haply received 
 before me. It is well ; you might otherwise have thought 
 less of what I had to tell you." 
 
 " If you are compromised in the eyes of the Govern- 
 ment, Andrea Ferrari, it is hardly kind to have made this 
 your chief house of call in Southern Russia," said the 
 rabbi. 
 
 " I have had no reason to believe that I was suspected 
 until I left St. Petersburg this time, intending to go to 
 Paris ; but some sudden knowledge of the change of 
 government here and the departure of a certain man from 
 the capital for Elizabethgrad and Czarovna, forced me, as 
 I said before, out of the love I bear this household, to 
 make my way hither." 
 
^V ORDER OF THE CZAR, 23 
 
 While he was speaking, the man who had crept out of 
 the moonlight entered the old house by a side door in the 
 courtyard, which was opened to him by an inmate ; and 
 at the same time there emerged from an archway in the 
 street at the entrance to the Ghetto a file of soldiers, and 
 a wagon came rumbling along the thoroughfare, awaken- 
 ing the otherwise quiet echoes of the night. * 
 
 "What is the noise outside ? " asked Ferrari, feeling the 
 knife, which he always carried handy in a belt on his hip. 
 
 " Some late carrier from the country," said Klosstock. 
 
 " You seem much disturbed," remarked the rabbi. 
 
 " I had a bad dream last night; I thought I was sitting 
 here among you, and that suddenly there started up 
 behind the slove a man, who said, * Andrea Ferrari, thou 
 art my prisoner.' The noise outside struck me curiously 
 as if it were the prologue to my captivity." 
 
 " Hast thou been drinking, Andrea ? " the old man 
 asked. 
 
 " Nay, I am in my soberest senses ; a little over-anxious 
 for thy welfare perhaps ; for know this — Governor General 
 Petronovitch is a sensualist, and a tyrant ; he is believed 
 to have instigated the rising against our chosen people at 
 Elizabethgrad, and your friend Poltava's withdrawal from 
 the province is not promotion, it is disgrace ; he is even 
 suspected of sympathy with the Nihilistic propaganda." 
 
 " God forbid ! " exclaimed Klosstock. 
 
 " Moreover thy new servant, Amos Negrusz, is a 
 Government spy " 
 
 " And he arrests thee, Andrea Ferrari, as a traitor ! " 
 said a vgice, which seemed to come from the earth, as the 
 three men started to their feet and the servant emerged 
 from a dark corner of the room, covering Ferrari with the 
 shining barrel of a revolver, while at the same time another 
 person appeared from the doorway whence Anna had 
 retired, and a loud knocking was heard at the front door 
 of the house. 
 
24 BV ORDEk OP THE CZAk, 
 
 " Do thou open thy door to the police," said Negrusz. 
 
 Ferrari had stood perfectly still, his heart beating 
 wildly, but hand and head ready for the slightest chance 
 of escape. The arrogant act of the servant in ordering 
 the master to open his own door gave Ferrari the oppor- 
 tunity. It was only for a second that Negrusz was off his 
 guard, but in that second Ferrari, with the agility of a cat, 
 was upon him, his knife in his throat, the pistol wrested 
 from him, and the next moment the lithe Italian had dis- 
 appeared through the open doorway in the rear. 
 
 A scene of confusion followed : hurried orders of mili- 
 tary men, the screams of women, and presently the report 
 of firearms in the principal street of the Ghetto. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AN ESCAPE. 
 
 His teeth set, his red knife firmly grasped, Ferrari sped 
 through the narrow streets, down strange passages, now 
 crouching out of the moonlight, now dashing through its 
 beams, until he found himself on the bank of the river that 
 skirted the settlement. Here, in the shadow of a bridge, 
 he rested, and hoped Losinski's prayer had indeed been 
 heard, and half believed it had, his escape so far having 
 been nothing less than miraculous ; and breathless as he 
 was, panting for very life, he rejoiced that the spy Negrusz 
 had been delivered into his hands. 
 
 Presently he looked back towards the village. Lights 
 were appearing in the previously darkened windows. He 
 thought he heard the hum of voices. No doubt the whole 
 place was up in arms. He feared for the safety of Anna, 
 and for the lives of his dear friends. What would happen ? 
 Could he be of use to the Klosstocks, upon whom it 
 seemed to him he had brought disaster and ruin ? How 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 25 
 
 could he hope to escape? He was now known to the 
 police, denounced by Negrusz — a sleuth hpund of the St. 
 Petersburg Detective Force, who had found reason to 
 suspect Ferrari about the time of the murder of the Czar. 
 While, however, he was making up his mind to act, Ferrari, 
 in the very house where Negrusz thought he had him safe, 
 had managed to disappear, which was sufficient evidence 
 to satisfy Negrusz if ever he again encountered him. From 
 that moment Ferrari had assumed one of his various dis- 
 guises, which he had only laid aside on his way to Czar- 
 ovna, and this was the last visit he had intended to pay to 
 his friends in Southern Russia. 
 
 Ferrari had, for several years, been associated with the 
 propagandists ; but until this night his hand had shed no 
 blood in the Nihilistic cause, and now that he had whetted 
 his knife he felt a thirst for more. 
 
 What should he do ? Take advantage of the disturbance 
 and sensation of the affair at the Klosstocks to sineak back 
 into the Ghetto and find shelter there ? Or make his way 
 to some distant village ? Or seek refuge for a time in the 
 adjacent woods ? 
 
 There was a certain Count Stravensky, a landowner 
 near Czarovna, of whom Ferrari had in secret conclave 
 heard as " one of us." If he only knew whether he might 
 trust the count ! If he only knew where to find his place ! 
 
 •This Count Stravensky was one of the old nobility, who 
 had been grossly insulted by the Pristav of the district 
 during a search for secret printing presses, and piqued 
 at the treatment his complaint had received, and nettled 
 at his exclusion from Court, he had indeed joined the 
 forces of that vast agitation which was shaking the social 
 order of Russia to its foundations. As the count is des- 
 tined to figure in these columns, it may be well to refer to 
 the peculiar kind of persecution to which even the highest 
 as well as the lowliest of the land are subjected — Jew and 
 
26 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 Gentile, noble and peasant, men and women, gentle and 
 simple. 
 
 During the periods of what Stepniak calls " the White 
 Terror," which generally follows on great attempts or de- 
 tected plots, when searches are made by the hundred, 
 there is hardly a family belonging to the educated classes 
 who, on retiring to rest, do not tremble at the thought 
 that before morning they may be roused from their sleep 
 by the emissaries, of the Czar. The Count Stravensky, 
 during one of these general raids, felt thoroughly entitled 
 to sleep in peace. But as it turned out, he had offended 
 the Procurator of the district, who had some personal 
 scores to settle with the local nobility. The count was 
 not one of the most amiable of human beings, it is true ; 
 but he was faithful to the dynasty, and had inherited from 
 his progenitors a love of home and country. He was a 
 widower, and his only son had died fighting for the Czar 
 in Central Asia. One day, with drums beating and ban- 
 ners flying, the Procurator marched into the woodland 
 country beyond Czarovna, and infested the house and 
 grounds of the count. No one was permitted to leave and 
 none to enter, until the officer and his men had ransacked 
 the place for a secret printing press or for incriminating 
 papers. They found neither; but a few versts2i\fz.y they 
 discovered, in the library of the count's nearest neighbor, 
 a newspaper calling upon the Czar to give the country a 
 Constitution. The editor and proprietor of the journal 
 had already been imprisoned for this offence. The count's 
 neighbor could not say how the paper came into his room ; 
 he vowed he had not only not read it, but had never seen 
 it until it was taken from his desk ; and it afterwards was 
 clearly shown that he spoke the truth — a discharged ser- 
 vant confessed that he had placed it where it was found, 
 and afterwards given information to the police. Never- 
 theless, the count's neighbor, who had been carried off to 
 
SV ORDER OF THE CZAR, »j 
 
 prison, was not released upon this evidence, but died on 
 his way to Siberia. The count was forcibly confined to 
 his house for several days, and, though he escapee! the fate 
 of his neighbor, he was subjected to much annoyance, until 
 the Procurator was dismissed from his office for a glaring 
 offence against a more favored individual. When the local 
 noble's name occurred to Ferrari, he had just previously 
 received an official token of the Imperial favor and at the 
 same time a large acquisition of wealth. But all this was 
 too late so far as his allegiance to the Czar was concerned ; 
 he had long since lent his secret aid to the general agita- 
 tion, but with a secrecy which defied the keenest eye. 
 
 Ferrari, unfortunately, had no knowledge of these 
 details, and so keenly did the count protect himself that 
 it is possible, had the Italian sought refuge on his estate, 
 he would have given him up to the police. That would 
 have entirely depended on circumstances ; for Stravensky 
 was a man of moods, and of late he had given the new 
 Procurator every reason to believe that he was active in 
 the interests of the Czar and his officers. 
 
 While Ferrari was holding within himself a council of 
 war, there issued from the village a dozen troopers, no 
 doubt from the local barracks, who came sweeping across 
 the plain in the direction of the spot where he lay con- 
 cealed in the shadow of the bridge. 
 
 At first blush, he gave himself up for lost, but determined 
 to die hard. Sheathing his knife, he drew his revolver, 
 and crouched behind the timbers of the bridge, that he 
 might, at least, empty every barrel before he was taken. 
 But the horsemen dashed across the bridge and disappeared 
 over the plain and away into the woods beyond, on their 
 way, no doubt, to the residence of Petronovitch, the old 
 palace of the Provincial Government. 
 
 The Italian, with an involuntary prayer of thankfulness, 
 now crept from his retreat and made his way back to the 
 
28 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 Ghetto. If he could only find shelter he knew that he 
 could rely upon his fellow Jews to conceal him. He had 
 such words of brotherly responsibility for them, sucli 
 tokens of strength and power in the rings he wore upon 
 his fingers, that he had only to find a corner to put hii 
 head into to be sure that he might keep it there so long as 
 it pleased God not to guide the hunters to his hiding- 
 place. 
 
 Changing his appearance in various little ways, in the 
 hope of being able to pass the scrutinizing eyes of the 
 poHceman who had seen him, and taking out his knife with 
 a determined resolution of using it if necessary, he managed 
 to reach the back streets of the Pale of Settlement without 
 being observed. He could hear the sound of many voices 
 in the distance, and there were lights in some of the 
 humblest of the half mud and wholly thatched homes of 
 his fellow religionists. 
 
 Beneath a heavy archway he noticed at a corner of one 
 of the streets a more than usually spacious house, the door 
 open, a lamp burning in the outer hall, and he entered. 
 It was evidently the home of poverty, large as was the house, 
 unless it was one of those instances of opulence which 
 often in Jewish quarters hides itself in back rooms behind 
 squalid exteriors. 
 
 Passing through the outer room, ill-furnished and of 
 evil smell, Ferrari heard someone speaking in the next 
 apartment. Laying his head to the ground, he came to 
 the conclusion that two persons were in the room, a man 
 and a woman. Going back to the entrance to the house, 
 he closed the door, drew the bolt behind him, passed 
 through the outer hall, then boldly lifted the latch of the 
 further room and entered. 
 
 Raising his right hand with an eloquent benediction, he 
 invited, nay commanded, aid and sympathy, both of which 
 he received, and at once. 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 29 
 
 The home he had entered was the house of Moses 
 Grunstein, who lived with his young wife and one servant 
 in the utmost seclusion that was possible in the Ghetto. 
 He had married a second time, had no children, was rich 
 in this world's goods, and was honored and respected. 
 He carried on a large general business, and had made 
 money by dint of saving his profits and lending them at 
 fair usance to his Russian neighbors, and to the landowners 
 of the district. Few persons — never a Christian if he could 
 help it — ever saw the inner glories of his house, where he 
 lived in good style, surrounded with valuable articles of 
 furniture and decoration, which rejoiced the heart of his 
 young wife, Deborah, who was content to wear her jewels 
 on high days and holidays, and in the intervals for her own 
 pleasure in the private rooms of her husband's house. 
 
 " A fugitive," said Moses, repeating Ferrari's explana- 
 tion , " the friend of Joel Strackosch, of St. Petersburg, 
 with a mission to the Rothschilds, in London, and the victim 
 of a conspiracy of the Russian poHce. It were enough 
 that thou art the esteemed guest of our brother Klosstock. 
 For I have seen thee there." 
 
 " Do you not know, then, what has happened ? " asked 
 the Italian. 
 
 '' Where ? When ? " 
 
 <f Now — in the village — almost in the next street ! " 
 
 " No," answered the old man, his young wife clinging to 
 him in an attitude of alarm. 
 
 " Have you not heard the report of firearms ? " 
 
 *' No ; we spend our nights in prayer and contempla- 
 tion." 
 
 " Where are your servants ? " 
 
 " We have only one. Where is Esther ? " He turned 
 and addressed his wife, who at once went forth to find the 
 servant. Returning, she said Esther was not in the house, 
 and yet the doors were barred. 
 
^o BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 Ferrari explained how he had found the place open and 
 how he had himself bolted the doors after him. " No 
 doubt," he said, " your servant heard the noise, and has 
 gone out to see what is the matter." Then he related 
 what had happened, whereupon the host said, " My son, 
 this is of serious moment ; surely it is the breaking up of 
 the peace of Czarovna ; every house will be searched, but 
 thou couldst not have entered one where thy secret is so 
 safe. The Ghetto has not always been the abode of secu- 
 rity. Deborah, do thou undo the doors and await thy 
 handmaid's coming. Our brother Ferrari's secret is our 
 secret, and we pledge ourselves to that before God." 
 
 Deborah bowed her head, and as she lifted up her face 
 the old man kissed her upon the forehead. 
 
 " Follow me," he said, taking up a lamp and addressing 
 Ferrari, who followed him straight, the old man leading 
 the way through various passages and lavishly furnished 
 rooms, into what appeared to be a cloth warehouse, and 
 thence into a narrow courtyard, shut in by the tall front of 
 the warehouse and overhanging rock. In a corner of the 
 dark and gruesome cul de sac was what appeared to be a 
 well, by the dark side of which the old man paused as if 
 they had arrived at their destination. 
 
 " Be not afraid, my son, I mean thee well," said the old 
 man : " a wary correspondent of mine, two days ago, gave 
 me a note of warning that trouble was falling upon Eliza- 
 bethgrad, and that the blast of persecution might even 
 blow in this direction, but although I showed my wife this 
 refuge yesterday for the first time I did not think i might 
 have to use it, and I take thy coming as a sign from 
 God." 
 
 " But where is the retreat, my father ? " asked Ferrari, 
 the damp mouldy odor of the place promising anything but 
 a comfortable sanctuary. 
 
 ^' It is at hand. Wouldst thou have it easy of access? 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 3I 
 
 They who made this refuge were thoughtful of their fugi- 
 tives and of their lives ; follow me." 
 
 The old man, handing Ferrari the lamp, proceeded to 
 descend the well, not with the aid of rope or bucket, but 
 by steps which he sought with his feet while clinging to 
 the side. He knelt down, then feet foremost literally went 
 into the well. His head resting upon the coping stone, he 
 said : " Thou wilt feel niches on the right and left for thy 
 feet ; the water would not drown thee if thou wert to fall, 
 which is impossible ; Deborah descended yesterday ; lower 
 thyself by means of the niches for thy feet, and I will con- 
 duct thee further : give me the lamp." 
 
 Ferrari, following these instructions, presently entered 
 a small subterranean passage, now lighted by the lamp of 
 his host, who stood upright at the further end, whence a 
 door swung open at his touch, and closed upon them with 
 a spring that seemed to clutch the rock through which the 
 place had been excavated. They were within the outer 
 halls of an immense natural cave, their way marked by 
 stalactite and stalagmite, their footsteps awakening echoes 
 that were accompanied by the distant sound of falling 
 waters. 
 
 Suddenly coming to a standstill, Ferrari's guide lifted 
 his lamp high above his head and pointed onward, where 
 streaks of daylight seemed to penetrate the gloom afar off. 
 They paused here to make a turning to the right, through 
 a narrow way, where the darkness was so intense that the 
 lamp fairly blinked at it. Then suddenly they were ob- 
 structed by what appeared to be solid rock. The aged 
 Jew stooped and apparently turned a key, and the next 
 moment a heavy door swung upon its hinges and disclosed 
 a lighted chamber, fairly well furnished, with comfortable 
 rugs and skins, cupboards and cabinets, the latter roughly 
 made but strong and evidently filled with treasures. 
 
 ** I have made these," said Moses Grunstein, " with my 
 
32 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 own hands," pointing to the furniture; "it has been a 
 labor of love for twenty years, and here you may rest and 
 be secure. My wife has been here, but without my aid 
 no person could discover this sanctuary, nor finding the 
 passage could suspect the door, nor finding the door could 
 open it except by siege, and besieging it could not prevent 
 the inmate's escape, as I will show thee when thou hast 
 refreshed thyself and surveyed thy new abiding place." 
 
 Ferrari found his curiosity as well as his gratitude ex- 
 cited to the utmost, and was as anxious to know the story 
 of the cavern as Moses Grunstein was to know the details 
 of what had passed at the house of his dear friend Kloss- 
 tock. 
 
 " First be seated," said Grunstein, "and I will disclose 
 to thee thy store of wine and food." 
 
 Ferrari's kindly host lighted another lamp and produced 
 candles from a spacious cupboard, where there were stores 
 of biscuits in tins, unleavened bread, dried fish, jars of 
 honey and fruits ; beneath this cupboard was a lower one 
 containing wines and medicines ; while close by were 
 various cooking utensils, and wood and charcoal. 
 
 '' It is rarely cold here," said Grunstein, " and I am dis- 
 posed to believe there is a natural warmth in this part of 
 the cave arising from a hot spring ; for there is a warm 
 mist always rising beyond the further compartment, and I 
 hear a bubbling of waters ; but I have made a cheerful fire, 
 and with perfect security. At first I feared that the smoke 
 thereof might betray me ; but it has not; it seems to me 
 that this cavern is almost endless ; five and twenty years 
 ago I discovered it, and I have spent days within its hills 
 and valleys but have never found any ending of it. Did the 
 Russian law enable a Jew to buy land I would have pur- 
 chased this estate and made money by exhibiting this 
 wonder of Czarovna, as money is made in other parts of 
 the world by similar exhibitions. I know the history of 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 33 
 
 every known cavern in the world, so far as their nistories 
 are related in books. And while I tremble lest thou 
 shouldst deceive me, I feel a glow of pleasure in showing 
 thee my treasures." 
 
 " I have sworn to thee, Moses Grunstein, and that binds 
 me ; but a very devil might be trusted out of his gratitude 
 to be true to thy secret, if thou hadst saved him from a 
 Christian saint as thou hast saved me from Christian devils. 
 And I say saved, with a kind of revelation that it is so ; 
 for know, dear friend, that I am master of so many dis- 
 guises that with thy aid I need not remain here longer than 
 is necessary for thee to provide me with the means to make 
 myself someone else, and happily I have more than one 
 passport which I can- fit with more than one disguise. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 AN ARREST. 
 
 While host and guest were thus entertaining each other 
 in Grunstein's remarkable retreat, the police were seek- 
 ing Ferrari in every house of the Ghetto, and troops were 
 scouring the country in all directions. Poor Anna was 
 aroused from her dreams of bliss to be declared a prisoner 
 in her father's house. The officer placed in charge had 
 every room ransacked for seditious papers. Her own 
 virgin chamber was not sacred from their prying eyes. 
 Before it was well day the new governor, General Petro- 
 novitch, made his appearance. He sat in Nathan Kloss- 
 tock's great room, and had the owner and his daughter 
 brought before him as if they were criminals. 
 
 " So," he said, " you are the vile reptiles that have found 
 so much favor with my predecessor? — like governor, 
 like subject." 
 b 3 
 
34 
 
 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 " We are no reptiles, may it please your Excellency," 
 Nathan Klosstock replied. 
 
 '* Dog of a Jew ! " exclaimed Petronovitch, '' how comes 
 it then that my Imperial master's mandate is treated with 
 contempt, and his trusted officer murdered in thy house, 
 and by the hands of thy guests, traitors to His Imperial 
 Majesty ? " 
 
 " If I may be permitted to answer I would say we are 
 no traitors to His Imperial Majesty, but humble, loving 
 subjects." 
 
 "• Loving subjects? I spit upon thee, thou cursed Jew ! " 
 and he spat accordingly. 
 
 " Nay, sir, have mercy upon my daughter ; she has been 
 trained to pray for His Imperial Majesty, and to honor 
 her father." 
 
 '^ Has she so ? " said Petronovitch, turning his cruel 
 eyes upon her ; she does not honor thee in her handsome 
 face, nor in her graceful figure. Stand up, girl, thou needs 
 not fear ; where is the man to whom thou art betrothed, 
 as they tell me thou art ? " 
 
 ''The rabbi Losinski, your Excellency," said Anna, in a 
 voice trembling with agony and distress, " was driven 
 forth." 
 
 " The Jew Losinski," said the officer, " we thought it 
 well your Excellency, to keep apart from the other prison- 
 ers. He is without." 
 
 " Bring him before us," said Petronovitch. 
 
 Two soldiers appeared with Losinski. 
 
 " The rabbi Losinski ? " said Petronovitch with a note 
 of interrogation. 
 
 The rabbi bowed his head. 
 
 " The famous student of St. Petersburg ? " 
 
 " Your humble servant," said the rabbi, " and your 
 Imperial Master's faithful subject." 
 
 " For the present, to show that we are the merciful 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 35 
 
 officers of a merciful Emperor and Father of his people, 
 be they Jew or Gentile, Turk or Persian, thou art released. 
 Betake thee to thy home." 
 
 The rabbi lingered for a moment and then advanced 
 towards Anna. 
 
 " Begone, I say." 
 
 Anna raised her eyes full of appeal and tears. 
 
 *' This woman is my betrothed," said Losinski ; " per- 
 mit me to remain." 
 
 ' Ill-mannered cur ! " said Petronovitch, " out of my 
 sight ! ' 
 
 Then turning to the officer, he said, " Thrust him forth." 
 
 And forthwith the rabbi was hustled into the street, 
 where the sun was finding its way into the dark corners of 
 the Ghetto, and a wild song-bird, straying from the mea- 
 dows by the river, was singing somewhere in the blue sky. 
 
 With what a heavy heart did Losinski turn towards his 
 home ! As he appeared in the midst of the Jewish dwell- 
 ings, men and women came out of their houses, and many 
 were trooping in from their pleasant homes outside the 
 Ghetto. They were making their way to the Synagogue 
 in response to the triple knock upon their doors — the usual 
 call to prayer — at this time both a surprise and a warning. 
 
 " We need thy counsel," said one of the foremost of his 
 flock ; " we need mutual advice." 
 
 " And prayer," said the rabbi. 
 
 They pressed on their way, encompassing the burial 
 ground of their race, and more than one of the aged people 
 remembered the martyred dead who lay there. Czarovna 
 had a history of cruel rule and bitter persecution ; and in 
 more than one breast of those who followed the rabbi 
 arose the fear that the peace and happiness of the past 
 ten years was but a passing ray of light in the gloom 
 of their ancient records, and that once more they were 
 about to enter upon a period of misery and tribulation. 
 
36 BY ORDER OF 7 HE CZAR. 
 
 The news of the previous night had spread like wildfire ; 
 reports of the massacre of Elizabethgrad had come in, and 
 during the day strange men had taken up their quarters at 
 the inns, without any apparent object of business or kin- 
 ship, or for any purpose of pleasure. Occasionally a tra- 
 veler would appear in the village, to inspect the old 
 cathedral church and palace, or to wander over a strange 
 group of rocks that rose in curious shape beyond th« 
 Ghetto and down to the river — as if they had been thrown 
 up by some sudden revulsion of nature — and beneath 
 which Grunstein had made his interesting and useful dis- 
 covery ; but the newly-arrived strangers seemed to have 
 no business of any kind, and it was said by a traveler 
 from the West that it was thus the troubles began at Eliza- 
 bethgrad. 
 
 Arrived at the Synagogue, after an earnest prayer for 
 guidance and help, the rabbi related to the people what 
 had taken place at the house of Nathan Klosstock, and 
 he advised his brethren to have a care how they conducted 
 themselves and their affairs in presence of the affliction 
 that had befallen them. He spoke with emotion of the 
 arrest of the late Governor, Poltava, and of the helpless 
 prospect that was before them under his successor. Pass- 
 ing over his own great trouble with much self-denial, he 
 warned his hearers with impressive eloquence to take care 
 they gave the new Governor, His Excellency General 
 Petronovitch, no excuse for afflicting them, no reason for 
 professing to suspect their allegiance to the Czar, no 
 opportunity for affording him a hasty conviction ; for they 
 knew how great was his power, the more so in times of 
 political excitement, and in presence of an active hostility 
 of the Orthodox Christian against the Orthodox Jew. The 
 reports which had preceded the new Governor provided 
 bin with a character exactly the opposite from that of 
 Qeneral Poltava j and the rabbi gave point to its truth by 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 37 
 
 telling his flock that he himself had already had bitter 
 proof that neither in charity, religion, nor justice had they 
 anything to hope from General Petronovitch. He did not 
 say this in any bitterness of spirit ; he was content to 
 leave himself to the hands of God ; but he said it that 
 they might understand how they stood ; that the reign of 
 security was at an end, but that the day of tribulation 
 might be at least mitigated by circumspect conduct, 
 patience, humility and prayer. 
 
 CHAPTER Vl. 
 
 A SENTENCE. 
 
 During the remainder of the day, Czarovna was like a 
 place torn with some internal calamity, and full of a dread 
 of worse to come. To typify the community as one man, 
 it x^s as if he was stricken with the first symptoms of the 
 plague, and knew that his hours were numbered, and that 
 he would die in dreadful agony. Police and soldiers 
 ostentatiously paraded the little town. The Governor 
 and his staff took up their quarters at the old house of 
 the Ghetto. "It is on the scene of hostilities," said 
 Petronovitch, '' and will serve as a convenient court of 
 justice ; for we must needs have prisoners. Unless these 
 cursed Jews give up the murderer, Ferrari, they shall 
 smart for it ; he cannot have left Czarovna ; he is in 
 hiding. I will whip every cursed man and woman of 
 them, but I will have the ruffian they are concealing." 
 
 Anna was permitted her liberty on condition that she 
 held no communication with her father or with Losinski. 
 Petronovitch had her watched in the hope that she might 
 unconsciously lead them to their quarry. How could she 
 «bey the Governor's inhuman order ! The sentinels who 
 
38 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 guarded her father in an upper room of his house prevented 
 her from seeing him ; but there was no officer to bar her 
 way to the humble lodging of Losinski, whither she flew 
 for counsel and advice. 
 
 " Oh, if we could but leave this place ! " she said. " If 
 my father gave them all he possesses, would they release 
 Jiim and give us our liberty to go forth and starve? " 
 
 " Be comforted, my dearest," said Losinski, " we have 
 only one resource, our Heavenly Father." 
 
 " But will He hear us ? Oh, will He hearken to our 
 prayers ? " 
 
 She was distraught, the poor child — mad with fear, and 
 with a dread she dared not speak of Petronovitch had 
 addressed her in soft, if not kindly words. She would 
 rather he had spat upon her. 
 
 " God will surely help us," said the rabbi ; " it cannot be 
 that so much true religion, such a good and honorable life 
 as your father's, shall not find approval in His sight and 
 therefore protection ; and it cannot be that such love as 
 He has permitted me to be blessed withal shall be 
 bhghted." 
 
 ** Oh, my dear love," exclaimed Anna, " I sometimes fear 
 we are not His chosen : that after all we did crucify Him 
 whom we should have accepted ! " 
 
 " Nay, Anna, thou art beside thyself! " 
 
 " Surely I am," she replied, wringing her hands ; " pass- 
 ing the great crucifix by the church, it seemed to me as 
 if the eyes of Him in His agony sought mine, and that He 
 pitied me." 
 
 " For God's sake, Anna, no more of this, lest the judg- 
 ment of Heaven fall straight upon us." 
 
 " Say not ' lest it fall,' dear love," said Anna ; '' surely 
 it has fallen. I am homeless, my father a prisoner, and I 
 am going mad, for I know they will take the© from me. 
 Hark ! they are coming ! " 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 39 
 
 She fell fainting into his arms, and as he laid her upon a 
 seat and called the woman of the house, the police knocked 
 at the door and entered. 
 
 " You are my prisoner — come ! " said the first officer. 
 
 " What is my offence 1 " asked Losinski. 
 
 " No words," said the officer, laying a rough hand upon 
 him, " come ! " 
 
 Losinski was hurried before the Governor, who attacked 
 him v;ith brutal effrontery as " a conspirator, a traitor, a 
 cursed Jew ; " and repeating the very words of caution 
 Losinski had used in addressing his flock : " I am cruel, am 
 I ? I am not the weak fool your previous Governor was, eh ? 
 No justice or charity is to be expected from me ? You 
 denounce the faithful servant of His Imperial Majesty to 
 your people, do you ? You would foment a rebellion, 
 would you ? Speak, Jew, what have you to say ? " 
 
 *' Arraign me before the judges in open court and let me 
 know the charge you bring against me, and I shall know 
 how to defend myself." 
 
 " I do arraign you now, before this Court Martial, this 
 Council of War," said the General, waving his hand so as 
 to indicate his staff, who bowed their hands with the 
 submissiveness of slaves. " Do you deny the truth of 
 what I allege ? You shall see that I am just if I am severe, 
 as it behoves justice to be in these days of conspiracy 
 and rebellion. Stand forth, you Judas, there ! " 
 
 He named him well — the witness — for he was a member 
 of Losinski's flock — a half imbecile, God-forsaken wretch, 
 whom the police had suborned by threats and money to 
 betray the rabbi. 
 
 " You heard the Losinski warn his flock against me, the 
 Governor, appointed by our holy father, the Czar?" 
 
 " I did," said the witness. 
 
 " He said they might neither expect justice nor charity 
 from me ? " 
 
40 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 " Yes," replied the poor creature. 
 
 "You hear, Jew? You shall see how just I am, how 
 generous are my brother councillors. What have you to 
 say? " 
 
 " May I ask your witness, my unhappy brother, a ques- 
 tion?'' 
 
 " You may." 
 
 " Did I advise anything but gentle submission to the 
 new Governor — a careful observance of the law ? " 
 
 " No," said the wretch. " Oh, God forgive me ! " 
 
 "Stand up, Judas," said the Governor. " That meant, 
 *Be careful how you rebel, but rebel ; don't do it in the 
 open day light; but the Governor Petronovitch is 
 unworthy of his position ; he is a tyrant. His Imperial 
 Majesty has sent amongst you an unjust and cruel officer ; 
 rebel against him, but have a care, do it secretly.' You, 
 Losinski, are a cut-throat Jew — a rebel, a traitor to the 
 State — and for this I will make an example of you. You 
 are condemned to receive fifty blows of the knout in the 
 public place of execution ! Officers, remove him and let his 
 punishment take place with all convenient speed ; direct 
 the Commander of the District Prison to attend us at the 
 Palace of the Government within the hour." 
 
 Losinski staggered under the sentence and turned pale 
 to the very lips. 
 
 " Mercy ! mercy ! " he cried ; " do not condemn me on 
 the evidence of a miserable wretch such as this." 
 
 He pointed to the suborned witness as he spoke, and 
 the poor creature turned away his head and sobbed. 
 
 " Why ask me for mercy," said the Governor with a 
 cruel sneer, '' since I am a tyrant, without pity, without 
 remorse ? " 
 
 " I did not say so," the rabbi replied, " and whatever I 
 said was in the cause of peace." 
 
 ** It is in the same cause that thou art condemned." 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 41 
 
 *' Great God ! " exclaimed the rabbi, casting his eyes 
 upwards, " help me, for Thy name's sake — for her sake, 
 for the sake of Thy poor servant, Anna ! " 
 
 " Away with him ! " exclaimed the Governor, and the 
 next moment the rabbi, beside himself with grief and 
 terror, was dragged into the street. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE KNOUT. 
 
 Capital punishment is abolished in Russia, but there are 
 tortures worse than death, and there are deaths from star- 
 vation and cruelty in Russian prisons far more numerous 
 than the decapitations in France and the hangings in En- 
 gland. What Enghsh punishments were two hundred 
 years ago Russian tortures are now and worse, and they 
 are conducted with an hypocrisy that is wholly Russian. 
 The truth is, according to more than one historian and 
 commentator, strangulation, crucifixion, the gallows and 
 decapitation were considered too mild for salutary inlluenc 
 on criminals and political offenders. The Russian legiyho 
 tors, therefore, invented other deterrent instrumenther's 
 keep the people straight ; the rod, the whip, the kno^ money 
 the mutilation of the face were introduced, but fr^vaste no 
 only as supplementary to the deadly mines of Sibej 
 In the entire language of civilization it is mail 
 that there is no word which conveys an idea of "^h the 
 cruelty, more superhuman suffering, than is conveyeopro- 
 the Russian word, knout. To hear it in Russia is ere 
 shudder ; and it is all the more terrible that the punished 
 ment of the knout does not necessarily mean death. Jr ; 
 the friends of the victim have influence enough or suids. 
 cient money to bribe the executioner to kill the condemrl no 
 
42 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 then it means death, but this is not a mercy always 
 obtainable. 
 
 Anna met the minions of the Council dragging her lover 
 to the prison of the District Court, for Losinski was more 
 dead than alive. He was no coward^ but he knew what 
 the knout meant. His very blood had frozen at the sen- 
 tence. For the moment he even forgot Anna, only think- 
 ing of the horror of his situation. He had seen the 
 administration of the knout more than once in St. Peters- 
 burg ; he had seen the half-naked victims strapped upon 
 the machine so tightly that it seemed impossible that the 
 body could move so much as a hair's breadth, and yet 
 with the skin as tight as racking screws could make it, to 
 the very dislocation of the bones, the wretch would bound 
 under the very first blow. Losinski seemed to see himself 
 undergoing the torture, and he had fought his captors with 
 the vigor of a wild despair. When Anna came upon 
 the grim procession he had simply collapsed ; they were 
 dragging along a man half-dead with fright and wholly 
 insensible, 
 pui^ It had been some little time before the rabbi's people 
 the O-d made Anna understand why at parting Losinski had 
 Palac^ole^Tfi^^y commended her to God. When she realized 
 Losiii. had happened, when she knew that he was a pri- 
 to the veryshe rushed out with no other intention at the 
 
 " Mercyt than to find him. 
 the eviden calm," said an old man, standing in her way,^* be 
 
 He poi' 
 the poo'^bo are you ? " she asked. 
 
 " W' A friend," said the stranger, 
 cruel •" I have never seen you before." 
 remoi*' Yes, you have. Let me whisper a word to you'.*' 
 
 " I She bent her head, 
 said w" Thank God," she exclaimed, in answer . to the whis- 
 
 " It fd word. 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 43 
 
 Almost immediately a little group of anxious people 
 had gathered round them, mostly Jews, though there were 
 several mujiks in their sheepskin jackets standing in the 
 roadway. 
 
 " What shall I do ? " Anna exclaimed, pressing her hand 
 upon her heart, and trying to prevent herself from uttering 
 a cry of anguish. 
 
 " Go to the Governor," said a neighbor, " ana fling 
 yourself at his feet; the rabbi is condemned to the 
 knout ! " 
 
 " Oh, great God ! " gasped the wretched girl. ^' Oh, 
 Father in heaven, thou wilt not desert him, Thy servant I 
 Oh, merciful God." 
 
 She staggered, and. would have fallen, but for the old 
 man who had been the first to accost her. 
 
 Almost as suddenly as she had given way she seemed 
 to recover herself. 
 
 " This is no time for tears," she said, wiping her face 
 with her handkerchief, '"what shall I do? Advise me, 
 friend." 
 
 She addressed the old man, who, leaning upon his staff, 
 surveyed the scene with much apparent composure. 
 
 " There is only one way," exclaimed the neighbor who 
 had previously spoken ; '' the Governor is in your father's 
 house, go to him, plead for the rabbi, offer all the money 
 you have for his release, make any bargain, but waste no 
 time ! " 
 
 " You are right," said the girl ; " I will go." 
 
 Without another word she pushed her way through the 
 throng, and hurried homewards, to meet the terrible pro- 
 cession. The old man was at her elbow, so also were 
 several of her neighbors. Seeing Losinski, Anna rushed 
 in among the soldiers and flung herself upon their prisoner; 
 only, however, to be thrust back again among her friends. 
 
 " Oh, my love ! " she cried. " Merciful God ! will no 
 one protect us ? " 
 
44 ^y ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 " Go to the Governor," said the neighbors, "prayTto" 
 him ; kneel to him." 
 
 " Yes, yes," she said, all her efforts to be calm availing 
 her but little, the danger having been so suddenly revealed, 
 the catastrophe so overwhelming. 
 
 " Where is my father ? " she asked, addressing the old 
 man. 
 
 " Nay, I know not ; a prisoner, I believe." 
 
 " In his own house," said the neighbor, " or was ; where 
 he may be now who shall say ? " 
 
 " I shall go mad," exclaimed Anna. 
 
 " Daughter, be calm, everything depends on that ! " 
 
 "Yes, I know," she replied; "I will." 
 
 " You are going to the Governor ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 '* Take this," he said in a whisper ; " you may need it ; 
 hide it in your bosom." 
 
 She took it ; it was a knife. 
 
 " There is a dishonor worse than death," he said, " and 
 it is lawful to kill in self-defence ; daughter of a despised 
 but noble race, be worthy of your father, be worthy of 
 your lover ! " 
 
 " I will," said Anna, her form no longer trembling, her 
 hand firm, her teeth set, a great resolve in her heart. 
 
 " Tell him that you and yours are willing to go forth 
 penniless, that he is welcome to all you possess, that you 
 will show him your father's store, and that Joel Rubenstein, 
 the rich banker of Moscow, shall indemnify his future in a 
 hoard of wealth he little dreams of. You are strong 
 now?" 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 "Go, my child!*' 
 
 When she arrived at her father's house, the Governor 
 had gone to the palace of the Government, his new home, 
 and had left instruotions that the commander of the prison 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 45 
 
 should attend him thereC The officer on duty informed 
 her that she was to have full permission to remain in her 
 father's house or leave it ; that no restraint was to be 
 placed on her liberty, except that she could have no inter- 
 view walh her father. 
 
 " I must see the Governor," she said. 
 
 " You know the way to the palace," said the attendant. 
 She did j and she at once directed her steps thither. 
 
 Down the long street of the Ghetto, over the bridge 
 where Ferrari had prepared to sell his life dearly, across 
 the plain, over the uplands and through the piece of forest 
 where she had walked with her father in happy days to join 
 him in paying his respects to General Poltava and Her 
 Excellency his amiable wife, the distance from Czarovna 
 was about a couple of English miles. 
 
 It was now nearly an hour after noon. Winter and 
 summer are sudden incidents in Russia ; one day the land 
 is snowbound, the next there is a great thaw, the next is 
 the beginning of summer : on this sad day the last of the 
 snow had disappeared, the swollen river ran merril)^^ along 
 its sedgy course, and the sun was shining brightly in a 
 blue sky. 
 
 A- mile beyond the bridge a horseman accosted her; he 
 was attended by several servants. 
 
 " You are the daughter of the merchant Klosstock ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " We have met before j I know your father ; I have 
 heard what has happened ; I desire to assist you, but I fear 
 it is impossible. I am the Count Stravensky." 
 
 ''Oh, thank your highness; my father is a prisoner in 
 liis own house, my betrothed, the learned and beloved 
 rabbi, is condemned to the knout. I am going to the 
 Governor to throw myself at his feet and beg for mercy." 
 
 The noble boyar looked upon the girl with a world of 
 compassion in his brown eyes ; her hair was falling all 
 
46 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 about her pale handsome face, her eyes were ued with 
 weeping. 
 
 "I have just now ventured to say to His Excellency the 
 Governor all I know that is good of all of you," said the 
 count, " and hope you may be successful ; but I fear, my 
 poor girl, I fear — and there is no lady at the old house so 
 recently adorned by Her Excellency the Lady Poltava to 
 soften the discipline of the place. Are you not afraid to 
 trust yourself alone there ? " 
 
 ** I am alone in the world ; I have no one belonging to 
 me now ; two days ago I was the happiest of God's crea- 
 tures." 
 
 " And they called you Queen of the Ghetto. Heaven 
 help you ! Would that I could ! You are not afraid to go 
 alone, you say ? I have the Governor's permission to 
 speak with your father ; that is why I am now riding into 
 Czarovna. But I will return and go to the Governor with 
 you if you think " 
 
 " No, no, go to my father, dear sir, thank your highness ; 
 my loneliness may be the best appeal to the Governor than 
 even your kind aid ; and my father needs comfort. Tell 
 him I am well ; that I am free ; and oh, conjure him to 
 buy his own and the rabbi's liberty if money will buy it ; 
 and if not " — lifting her head high for the first time — " tell 
 him we will die together ! " 
 
 *' I will say so," the count replied, not without emotion, 
 " and if I can be of any service to you — I fear my influ- 
 ence is not great — command me." 
 
 And they went on their several ways, Anna running to 
 make up for this short delay, the count turning upon his 
 horse to look back after her. 
 
 " What a lovely creature ! " he said to himself, "brave 
 as she is lovely and good as she is brave ! Is it wise to 
 permit her to see Petronovltch unattended ? " 
 
 " God be with you I " said the old man who had spoken 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 47 
 
 with Anna in the street, and who had followed her through 
 the Ghetto, over the bridge and out upon the plain much 
 more briskly than his age and staff would have seemed 
 possible. 
 
 " And with you, friend," said the count. " I had not 
 observed you; where did you spring from?" 
 
 " Your attendants are out of hearing? " 
 
 " They are." 
 
 The old man uttered a password and gave a sign. The 
 count, beckoning to an attendant, requested his retinue 
 to ride into Czarovna, and await him at the house of 
 Klosstock, the Jew* 
 
 " You were pitying ^nna." 
 
 " The Qiieen of the Ghetto > " said the count. " Is it 
 not so she is called?" 
 
 " By those who desire to compliment her and her fatner s 
 position," said the old man, "yes; but to-day she is de- 
 throned, and her kingdom is like to be in ruins. There is 
 no time to stand on ceremony, Sir Count. I gave you a 
 sign and a word." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 • " Is it well ? " said the old man. 
 
 " I am sorry for these Jewish people," said the count. 
 
 " You encourage me. You are sorry for your country 
 also ? " 
 
 " Say on, but do not forget that the very trees and stones 
 have ears and tongues in these days." 
 
 '' And I will trust you," said the old man. *' I am An- 
 drea Ferrari. I bring messages for you if I think it wise 
 to deliver them. The brethren did not quite know how 
 to regard you." 
 
 " Since you have placed yourself in my hands, were I 
 otherwise than their friend I respond to your trust — confi- 
 dence for confidence. You have had a narrow escape j 
 your peril is by no means over." 
 
48 ^y ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 '* I am not thinking of myself, but of these poor people ; 
 more particularly this girl, her father, and the rabbi. Can 
 anything be done for them ? " 
 
 " I fear me not. Petronovitch is cruel by nature and 
 by policy ; Poltava is in disgrace for his leniency ; and 
 your arrest, the death of one of the Emperor's officers at 
 your hands, and in the Jew's house, so entirely justifies the 
 change of Governors and policy that Petronovitch is mas- 
 ter of the situation, and will be encouraged to take a big 
 revenge. We are under martial law, and he hates the 
 Jews ; indeed, it is hard to say whom he loves." 
 
 " I will follow the girl Anna," said the old man ; " good 
 day. Sir Count." 
 
 ^^ Au revoir I" responded the count. "Let us meet 
 soon." 
 
 It was wonderful with what rapidity the old man, our 
 unfortunate friend Ferrari, got over the ground. He soon 
 disappeared in the wood ; and meanwhile Count Straven- 
 sky cantered into the town of Czarovna, which he found 
 under the influence of strange and disturbing incidents. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE AWFUL NEWS THAT CAME TO CZAROVNA. 
 
 Within the few months previous to the change of Gov- 
 ernors in the province of Vilnavitch, the chief towns and 
 villages of Southern Russia were ablaze with riot, violence, 
 and bloodshed. In the provinces of Cherson, Ekaterin- 
 solav, Poltawa, Taurida Kiew, Czeringow, and Podolia 
 there had spread like wildfire the idea that the Jews and 
 their property had been handed over to the tender mercies 
 of the populace, an idea that seemed almost justified by 
 the inertness of the Governor-General in his treatment o£ 
 the riots at Elizabethgrad and Kiew. 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 49 
 
 The Times in London made a statement to this effect, 
 and gave particulars of some of the outrages ; and London 
 knew more about what was going on in the unhappy towns 
 of Southern Russia than was known even a few miles from 
 them. And no wonder that the news traveled tardily to 
 Czarovna, for here neither Jews nor Christians interested 
 themselves in political or other affairs outside their own 
 town, which was a model of good government and excep- 
 tional in its general contentment. Several towns had been 
 wrecked, many a Jewish woman outraged, many a poor 
 Jew slaughtered, before the full importance of the awful 
 tidings reached Czarovna, the first agents of trouble arriving 
 in the prosperous town on the very night of the attempted 
 arrest of Ferrari. 
 
 In each instance of the risings, agents had arrived in 
 the towns with copies of an alleged ukase empowering His 
 Imperial Majesty's orthodox subjects to seize all the pro- 
 perty of the Jews and put down all resistance of the 
 transfer. The mayor of one town actually read this pro- 
 clamation in public, and the place was only saved by the 
 wisdom and courage of the chief priest, who denounced 
 the ukase as a forgery and forbade the townspeople to act 
 upon it ; but at many other towns and villages near by it 
 was literally interpreted, and the property of the Jews was 
 taken over, in some cases partly destroyed, and the transfer 
 accompanied with barbarities and ruffianisms unknown in 
 this age outside Russia. Children were roasted alive. 
 Women w^re outraged in the presence of their offspring. 
 Men were murdered ruthlessly and without giving the 
 victims a chance of defence. At one place women appeared 
 among the assailants and assisted the men in their devilish 
 orgies and crimes. But it is not within the . province of 
 this narrative to enter into the details of these barbarisms, 
 which are duly recorded in the newspapers of the time. 
 
 The statistics of the terror are appalling, and the worst 
 ^^ 4 
 
so BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 feature of the whole affair was the barbarities committed 
 against the Jewish women ; even the Czar's commanding 
 officers seeming to think the honor and Hves of the poor 
 creatures of no account, so small were the efforts which they 
 made to temper the brutalities of the rioters, who were fre- 
 quently supported and aided by the soldiers and police. The 
 latest phase of the blind passions of the Christian Russians 
 was that of arson. So common did the vengeance of fire 
 become that the mujiks gave it the name of the red cock. 
 This is the technical term of the peasants for the deliberate 
 firing of towns. The red cock crowed over many a Jewish 
 place of settlement ; and within the short time of the riots, 
 which came to an end only at Czarovna, a hundred thou- 
 sand Jewish families were homeless, and their property, to 
 the extent of sixteen million pounds, either taken from 
 them or destroyed. And the date of these events was not 
 later than 1881. 
 
 There was one beautiful exception to the generality of the 
 success of the ukase. It was a small unsophisticated town, 
 something like Czarovna ; the Christians called upon their 
 Jewish neighbors and warned them of what was going on, 
 telling them that the agents and rioters from an adjacent 
 village which had been sacked were coming on to them, 
 and saying, " Now if it is true that the Emperor has given 
 your property over to his orthodox subjects it will be 
 better for you to let your neighbors take it than have it 
 wrested from you by strangers, and if the ukase is not true 
 we can hand you your property back again." So when 
 the band of thieves and rioters came to that town they 
 found the Christian inhabitants already in possession of 
 their neighbors' houses, shops, and goods. In this instance 
 the demon of blood and fire and plunder was outwitted ; he 
 had to pass on, and in due course the Jews got their pro- 
 perty back again. 
 
 The Government took no action in denying the forged 
 
B YlORDE'RrOF THE CZAR: 5 1 
 
 ukase, but after the outbreaks'/issued a Commission of 
 Inquiry in such form and* with such instructions as made 
 the persecution of the Jews seem justifiable ; and such 
 added restrictions have followed the commission that the 
 Rus so-Jewish question is summed up by a great pubUcist 
 of the day in these words : '* Are three and a half millions 
 of human beings to perish because they are Jews ? " The 
 answer, judged by the present active policy in Russia, is 
 '' Yes." 
 
 All of which the present narrator hopes will not discount 
 the reader's interest in the house of Klosstock and the 
 doomed community of Czarovna, whence by-and-bye we 
 shall travel to London, there to pick up other human 
 interests and human fates, that are strangely linked with 
 such of the actors in these opening scenes as may not fall 
 victims to the lust and greed of their assailants, and the 
 tyrannical and cruel despotism of the Government. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE CRY OF A BROKEN HEART. 
 
 General Petronovitch had finished a hasty meal, and 
 was smoking a cigar over some heavy red wine, when Anna 
 was announced. 
 
 " The Jew merchant's daughter," said his military 
 servant. " I told her you could not give audience to any- 
 one." 
 
 "You are a fool!" 
 
 " Yes, your Highness," said the man j " I said I would 
 inquire if you had leisure." 
 
 '' Admit her ; see that we are not disturbed." 
 
 The man withdrew. The General smiled and drained a 
 tumbler to the dregs. 
 
 " By the mass, a pleasant encounter ; I would not have 
 
52 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 wished for a more agreeable visit. She comes to beg for 
 her lover." 
 
 " Paulofif," he cried, ringing a bell which had been placed 
 by the side of his cigar box, "Pauloff." 
 
 The attendant returned. 
 
 " Listen." 
 
 ** Yes, your Excellency." 
 
 " If I call you and give you an order to postpone the 
 punishment of the man Losinski, in presence of this Jew 
 girl, you will not deliver it. Do you understand ? written 
 or verbal, do you understand } " 
 
 " Yes, your Excellency. She is here.'* 
 
 " Let her come in. Guard the door without ; admit no 
 one." 
 
 The attendant bowed, and Anna entered the room. 
 
 " No, no ; you may not kneel to me," said Petronovitch, 
 advancing towards her. 
 
 " Mercy for the rabbi ! Save my father," said Anna. "It 
 can be no gladness to you to bring such terrible suffering 
 upon us, it can do no good to our great Emperor ; better 
 it would be to take our money, our jewels, our property ^ 
 that will buy soldiers clothes, feed your poor, make your 
 ladies happy ; take it, give us our lives and liberty — we 
 ask no more." 
 
 She was almost out of breath with the utterance of her 
 little speech, that she had formulated in her despair as she 
 entered the old palace of the local government. 
 
 " My dear young lady," said Petronovitch, and the 
 courteous words chilled her, "do not distress yourself; I 
 am not the tyrant your Losinski would make out ; but I owe 
 a duty to my Imperial master. I do not want your money, 
 nor does my Government ; we only want peace and order. 
 We are pained to find such reputable persons as your 
 father harboring a conspirator who, on being arrested, cut 
 the throat of our Imperial master's officer and escaped by 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 53 
 
 the connivance of your father, the master of the house ; 
 and when we are in our most generous mood of narrowing 
 justice down to the criminal only, and considering the 
 previous good conduct of his associates, the rabbi, a 
 learned and scholarly man, incites his flock against us the 
 Governor, and denounces us as the corrupt and cruel 
 agent of a corrupt and unjust Government." 
 
 He knew not what he said, your Excellency ! " Anna 
 exclaimed. ** Oh, forgive him — His Greatness the Czar 
 has no truer subject ; mercy ! oh, be merciful ! " 
 
 " Be seated, child, and let us talk the matter over." 
 
 Remaining standing until now, he offered her a chair 
 and sat down himself. 
 
 " Do not ask me to sit ; when I flew here for succor 
 they were dragging the rabbi through the streets I know 
 not where, and they said he was condemned to a punish- 
 ment worse than death. Great God ! while I stand here he 
 may be suffering." 
 
 She turned upon Petronovitch her pale, frightened face, 
 her eyes ablaze with excitement and terror. 
 
 '' Oh, sir, spare him ! Hark ! I hear his voice ; he calls 
 me — he is dying ! " 
 
 " This is madness ; listen, my poor girl, I will spare 
 him. There ! he is saved ! " 
 
 " Heaven bless you," she cried and seized his hand and 
 kissed it. " God will bless you. But how is he to 
 know you will spare him ? How will they know he is to 
 be saved ? " 
 
 " If you will promise to be quiet and remain here, and 
 let me know your wishes and not distress yourself, you 
 shall hear the order given for the postponement of his 
 punishment, and you shall yourself bear away with you the 
 order for his release." 
 
 "■ Bless you," said the girl, her eyes now filling with tears 
 as she staggered to a seat. 
 
54 ^y ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 " Pauloff," called the General, ringing his bell. The 
 attendant entered, Anna looked up. 
 
 " Pauloff, bring me pen and ink." 
 
 Pauloff went to a cabinet and brought the writing mate- 
 rials. Petronovitch wrote upon a sheet of paper, folded it 
 and handed it to Pauloff with these words — " An order for 
 the postponement of the punishment of the rabbi Losinski ; 
 send a messenger to the commander of the prison forth- 
 with." 
 
 Anna covered her face with her hands and wept tears 
 of joy. 
 
 " Will you read the order, madame } " said Petrono- 
 vitch, showing it to her. 
 
 " No, no, I trust you." 
 
 " And the messenger will inform the commander that 
 the order for Losinski's release shall follow, you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 " Yes, your Excellency," the man replied, leaving the 
 room, Petronovitch following and quietly raising the 
 portiere to bolt the door. 
 
 " There, we are not so black as we are painted, are we ? " 
 he said, approaching Anna, and laying his hand upon her 
 shoulder. 
 
 *' You are very merciful," she said. 
 
 Petronovitch took a seat by her side. 
 
 " And what is to be my reward for all this, and the 
 much more I am to do for you ? " 
 
 " Eternal thanks and prayers, and the blessed conscious- 
 ness of a great act of charity ! " 
 
 "Just so," he said, his sensual face paling with the 
 emotion of an unholy passion. " And so you are to 
 marry the rabbi ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Aima, permitting his near approach without 
 a movement one way or the other, willing, poor creature, 
 to submit to some amount of insult for those she loved. 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 55 
 
 " He is to be envied," said Petronovitch, stealing his 
 arm round her. •> 
 
 '^ Your Excellency is pleased to be merry after your act 
 of goodness," Anna replied. 
 
 " I am pleased with you, too, and I hope you are not 
 displeased with me ? " 
 
 *' You are very good ; I owe you a deep debt of grati- 
 tude." 
 
 '* It is easily paid," he said, taking her hand in his hot 
 grasp. 
 
 " It can never be sufficiently acknowledged," she said, 
 now moving a little way from him ; " my father and my 
 future husband will never cease to bless you." 
 
 " I prefer to be in your thoughts," he said, his hot lips 
 close to her own, " and in your arms," and he kissed her 
 roughly, brutally. 
 
 She struggled free from his grasp, but did not lose her 
 self-control nor upbraid him, as he expected she would. 
 
 " You propose too much honor for a poor Jewess ; pray 
 now, sir, permit me to withdraw," was all she said. 
 
 " You are worthy of an emperor," he said : ** no Chris- 
 tian is more beautiful." 
 
 *' But your Excellency knows I am to be married to one 
 of my own people." 
 
 She would not allow him to think for a moment that she 
 believed he intended anything more than to make love to 
 her with a view to marriage. *' You may not marry a 
 Jewess, be she ever so wealthy." 
 
 " Oh yes, I may," he said , " we are not so particular 
 when beauty is in the case — such beauty as yours." 
 
 She retreated before him ; he followed her. 
 
 " I frighten you. Nay, let us talk about that release ; 
 I have only to write it." 
 
 She stood still and allowed him to approach her ; she 
 permitted him to take her hand ; he led her to a couch of 
 skins. 
 
^6 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 *' Now let me go, dear sir," she said, in her gentlest 
 voice, " and I will come again to morrow." 
 
 '* You make me jealous of the very man I am about to 
 release," he said, his arm about her waist once more. 
 
 " Let me see him free," she said, her heart beating, 
 every nerve strained with fear and apprehension, '' and 
 I will come to you the next moment." 
 
 " Nay, my darling, I cannot spare you," he said rough- 
 ly, taking her into his arms and half stifling her, his hot 
 breath upon her cheek, but the next moment she was free, 
 and the knife Ferrari had given her flashing above her head, 
 the fire of a tigress in her eyes. 
 
 " Let me go, or call in your servant to carry out my 
 corpse." 
 
 For a second Petronovitch was checked. But he was 
 not daunted, either by the knife or by Anna's threats, 
 though he pretended to be. 
 
 " Forgive me," he said. " I had an idea that you 
 Jewish girls were kind and generous. I had no idea 
 you carried such formidable greetings for lovers as that. 
 We are to know more of each other before we are friends ? 
 Well, so be it. Forgive me, and I forgive you. Put up 
 your knife, and keep your promise, for I am now going to 
 put your word to the test — the moment you see him free, 
 you will come to me ? " 
 
 "I said so," Anna replied, off her guard and replacing 
 her knife in her bosom, as Petronovitch took up his pen to 
 write the order for Losinski's release. 
 
 But Anna had not gauged the fiendish deceit of the man 
 she had hoped to content with such complaisance as she 
 had struggled to permit herself in her desperate case. 
 
 "I give you my word," he said, '* I will not molest you. 
 Be seated. I only now desire to have your rabbi released 
 that I may see how you ladies of the chosen people keep 
 your word." 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 57 
 
 Entirely accepting this view of the case as the denoue- 
 ment of her visit, Anna sat down and calmly awaited the 
 order for her lover's release. 
 
 Petronovitch, having written, read it to her, and as 
 she held out her hand for it he flung his arms round her, 
 snatched the knife from her bosom, and at the moment 
 that angry voices were heard in altercation at the door 
 (one of them the voice of Ferrari), he dragged her into an 
 adjoining room, where the'crash of a heavy door closing 
 behind her silenced — except, let us hope, for heaven — the 
 cry of a broken heart. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE DEATH-BLOW OF THE KNOUT. 
 
 « 
 
 It seemed as if the curse of the Lord had fallen upon the 
 house of Klosstock and upon all the chosen of Czarovna. 
 The light was suddenly gone out. That good Providence 
 which for years had watched over the ghetto now turned 
 from it, and there fell upon it the winter of misery, perse- 
 cution and death. They bowed them to the east and 
 prayed for succor, and there came fire and sword from the 
 west. 
 
 In the middle of the night when Anna was held in a 
 terrible bondage Nathan Klosstock was fettered and re- 
 moved. Morning saw him on his way to the House of 
 Preventive Detention at St. Petersburg, ai route for what 
 is called administrative exile This kind of captivity has 
 for the authorities none of the inconveniences of public or 
 even private trial. The prisoner disappears from the 
 world. Neither friend nor foe may know him again. It is 
 possible for his identity to be as thoroughly wiped out in 
 this way as if he were secretly murdered and buried in an 
 unknown grave. He has been changed from a man into a 
 
58 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 number, from a human being into a caged animal. If 
 Heaven is merciful, he will, in a little time, be attacked with 
 some fatal disease, and so be released from the benevolent 
 judicature of the only country which has abolished capital 
 punishment — abolished it as a fiend might, with his forked 
 tongue in his cheek. 
 
 And when that same morning broke upon Czarovna, in 
 the Province of Vilnavitch, Heaven appeared to be more 
 than angry with its servant, Klosstock, and its minister, 
 the learned Losinski, for it made its sun to shine gloriously 
 throughout the land. The radiant ruler of the day lighted 
 up the gruesome procession that formed and marched from 
 the district prison to the place of punishment. 
 
 The platform of the executioner was set up opposite the 
 barracks of the hussars, and was supported by a company 
 of the Imperial troops. In the police cart Losinski, half 
 naked and bound, was supported by two gaolers, and at 
 the barracks he was literally handed to the executioner, for 
 he was still in a condition of mental and physical collapse. 
 To this extent God had been kind to his poor servant, 
 who, despite his nobility of nature and his intellectual 
 strength, did not possess the qualifications for martyrdom. 
 
 Among the crowd was Ferrari, in the disguise of the 
 Moscow banker, and with the Moscow banker's passport 
 in his pocket. It was he whose voice was heard at the 
 doors of the Governor on the previous day, and he had 
 had a narrow escape of detention ; but the judgment to 
 know when to speak and when to be silent, and the discre- 
 tion to know how to use money and when, had kept 
 Ferrari free from the hard hand of the enemy, though 
 neither his judgment, his discretion, nor his power had 
 enabled hirii to help Anna. 
 
 It was with a heavy heart that he had returned to 
 Czarovna and communed with his friend Moses Grunstein 
 who had counselled him to bribe the executioner not to 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 59 
 
 spare Losinski, but with merciful consideration to kill him 
 outright. 
 
 Such as German de Lagny described the punishment of 
 the knout twenty years ago, so is it to-day, for Russia is 
 singularly conservative in its Imperial despotism. A man is 
 condemned to receive, say fifty or a hundred lashes. He 
 is dressed in a pair of linen drawers, his hands tied together, 
 the palms flat against each other, and he is laid upon his 
 face, on a frame inclined diagonally, at the extremities of 
 which are fixed iron rings. His hands are fastened to one 
 end of the frame, his feet to another. He is then stretched 
 in such a way that he cannot move, " just as an eel's skin is 
 stretched in order to dry." His bones crack and are dis- 
 located under this operation. Five and twenty paces 
 away stands the public executioner, attired in a colored 
 cotton shirt, velvet trousers (stuffed into a pair of jack- 
 boots), his sleeves tucked up over bare brawny arms. He 
 grasps his dreadful instrument in both hands. It is a 
 thong of thick leather cut in a triangular form, four or five 
 yards long and an inch wide, tapering off at one end and 
 broad at the other. The small end is fastened to a 
 wooden handle or whipstock about two feet in length. It 
 is akin to the buffalo whip of the Western States of 
 America, the crack of which is like the discharge of small 
 artillery. The signal given, the executioner advances a 
 few steps, bends his athletic body, grasping the knout in 
 his two strong hands, the long lash dragging like a snake 
 along the ground, and between his legs. Within three 
 paces of the victim he flings the creeping lash above his 
 head, then with a curious cruel knack lets it twirl for a 
 moment before bringing it down, upon the naked object, 
 around which it twines with malignant force — " in spite of 
 its state of tension, the body bounds as if it were submitted 
 to the powerful grasp of galvanism." Retracing his steps, 
 the executioner repeats the stroke with clock-like regu- 
 
6p BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 larity, until the prescribed number of blows is counted. 
 It is a ghastly sight ; the present narrator will spare the 
 reader a detailed description of its horrors. But in 
 Russia where so much may be purchased for gold, and 
 indeed where so much must be purchased — the venality of 
 every official class being notorious all over the world — 
 the family of the wretch condemned to the knout may buy 
 from the executioner what he calls the death-blow ; in that 
 case, the operator slays the victim at the very first stroke 
 " as surely as if it were an axe that he held in liis hand." 
 
 The drums had beaten, the Governor and his officers 
 had taken their places around the scaffold — for the knout 
 is administered with much ceremony, more especially 
 when the punishment is intended for a salutary warning 
 during some political crisis — the crowd, awe-stricken, yet 
 anxious to see the awful exhibition, were holding their 
 breath with fear, the lash was writhing through the air, 
 when a mad woman tore her way through the crowd, her 
 hair all disheveled, her face white as her bare arms, her 
 eyes bloodshot. But the sensation she created did not 
 stay the flying lash. It came down with the thud of death 
 upon the body of Losinski. The very life was beaten out 
 of him. Ferrari knew it. Grunstein knew it. The exe- 
 cutioner knew it. But Anna only saw the lash swing and 
 fall, stroke after stroke, while she fought with the crowd, 
 and at last was seized upon by Ferrari and Grunstein in 
 the hope of saving her from the police. 
 
 " Are ye men ? " she cried, when for a moment she was 
 at rest, " Oh, my brothers, will you stand by and see 
 your master murdered? Great God, curse this cruel host 
 of the fiendish Czar?" 
 
 *< Peace, daughter, for Heaven's sake ! " urged Grunstein. 
 
 '< Anna ! " whispered Ferrari. 
 
 "Yonder!" she cried. ''Look at him — the false 
 governor, the traitor, the liar, the Christian Tarquin I 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 6l 
 
 A few men of the ghetto gathered about her threaten- 
 ingly, for the Jews of Czarovna, through many years of 
 something approaching to freedom, were not altogether 
 devoid of courage, and at once, half crazy as she was, 
 Anna seemed to see her advantage. 
 
 " Men of the ghetto ! " she cried, " look to your wives 
 and daughters. You knew me a pure, good woman; 
 your vile governor Petronovitch has put upon me an ever- 
 lasting curse j avenge me, for the love of your women and 
 babes ! " 
 
 *' Down with the Governor Petronovitch ! " shouted the 
 imbecile who had betrayed Losinski. 
 
 And the knout continued to fall upon the dead rabbi. 
 When the last blow was struck there was a movement 
 towards the crowd where Anna was haranguing them, and 
 this was encountered by a hostile rush of the multitude 
 that had now gathered about the outraged woman. The 
 Governor could be seen giving orders. Several officers 
 left his side and made for the spot where Anna was con- 
 spicuous, her arms tossing to and fro above the crowd, 
 her tall figure a rallying point for the riot, that now began 
 with a quick ferocity, in defence of the wretched queen of 
 the ghetto, to capture whom it was at once seen was the 
 object of the Governor's officers. 
 
 All at once there was fighting, from one end of the 
 street to the other. The foremost band was led by the 
 imbecile, who fairly leaped upon the police as they charged 
 the crowd, only, however, to be transfixed by a bayonet 
 thrust. Anna seemed to be the very centre and object 
 of the riot. The men of the ghetto defended her with a 
 devotion that was as noble as it was ill-advised and futile. 
 It is true that several of the Imperial troops and police 
 bit the dust, but the Jews fell by the score, and before 
 Losinski's body was removed from the scaffold and carried 
 as a matter of form to the hospital, a fresh company of 
 
62 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 troops came marching out from the barracks. The Jews 
 retreated to their homes, and the populace, influenced by 
 the agents who had arrived at Czarovna the night before 
 from the east with the false ukase, began to rise against 
 their Semitic neighbors. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 PANDEMONIUM. 
 
 Beaten back and retreating, the Jews left their forlorn 
 sister as needs must to the mercy of the Governor. Un- 
 satiated with the blood of Losinski, in a passion of brutal 
 rage he condemned Anna to the lash, and to instant 
 punishment. 
 
 In the midst of the red excitement of the moment, men's 
 passions alive with fear, terror and vengeance, with the 
 sound of musketry following the retiring Jews, and with 
 the murmur of a gang of prisoners whom the hussars were 
 dragging towards the Governor, Petronovitch's inhuman 
 order was given, and Anna was stripped to receive fifty 
 strokes of the knout. 
 
 There were Russian women on the scene, the wives of 
 some of the officials ; they are supposed to attend 
 such terrible functions as the knout on special occasions, 
 for the purpose of assisting to emphasize a public deter- 
 rent example offered on such occasions for the benefit of 
 the people. They had borne the sight of the rabbi's death 
 with the nerve of official dignity. But a palpable mur- 
 mur of horror and protest was heard among them as they 
 reaUzed what was about to happen to Anna. The Count 
 Stravensky, venturing on the spur of the moment to make 
 an appeal to the Governor on behalf of the woman, 
 received a prompt and significant snub : "^ Are we to 
 maintain the authority of the Government or not? Is 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 63 
 
 open defiance, and in presence of the officers of the law 
 itself, making riot under the very banner of his Imperial 
 Majesty nothing, Sir Count ? Begone, sir, to your home ! " 
 
 As the count, biting his lips, moved away, Anna Kloss- 
 tock, stripped to the waist, was laid upon the reeking 
 frame to receive her punishment. 
 
 From such of the crowd as were left, Jew and Gentile, 
 a cry of horror went up to heaven, but the sun shone 
 brightly and the measured beat of the executioner upon 
 the peeling flesh fell stroke by stroke fifty times. 
 
 The quivering body was then carried with a strong 
 escort of soldiers to the hospital, and the riots of Czar- 
 ovna began in downright earnest. " Better we take their 
 goods than the strangers from Elizabethgrad," said some 
 of the Christian townsfolk. Others remembered wrongs 
 or imaginary wrongs which they had suffered at the hands 
 of their neighbors. The mujiks thought of the money 
 they owed the Jews. Others were fired with a sort of 
 patriotic zeal, preferring to believe that the Emperor 
 wished them to take over their property. " They are 
 delivered into our hands by the Government," said the 
 agents of the other risings against the Hebrews. ^ 
 
 Outside the ghetto, the Jews' houses were sacked without 
 much defence ; they were mixed up with the wooden 
 and mud houses of their Christian neighbors. The beer- 
 houses and taverns were occupied with ignorant throngs, 
 who, having drunk themselves into a frenzy, presently sal- 
 lied out into the ghetto, mad, wild, irresponsible savages. 
 
 The Jews fortified themselves in their houses and fought 
 for their lives— fought with knives and staves, and here 
 and there with firearms ; but as a rule they had little or 
 no knowledge of guns and pistols, and while they had the 
 instinct of self-preservation to push them on, their assail- 
 ants were fired with drink and greed, and stimulated with 
 a natural barbarity. The more their cruel passions were 
 
64 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 fed, the more they desired ; and Pandemonium was let 
 loose. 
 
 A woman with her babe, because she stood before her 
 son, a youth who had fought against the entrance of the 
 mob into her room, had the child dragged from her arms 
 and its brains dashed out before her face, herself being 
 subjected to the last insults that men-fiends can offer to 
 helpless women. 
 
 At the lodging of Losinski, on the other hand, the 
 woman of the house received the leader of the attack with 
 a coal hammer, and laid him dead at her feet, at which 
 the mob passed on and left her. 
 
 The keeper of the synagogue, whither many timid Jews 
 had sought sanctuary, fought the mob single-handed upon 
 the stairway, until he fell covered with wounds. 
 
 Klosstock's house was ransacked without even a show 
 of protest. " Thine ox shall be slain before thine eyes, and 
 thou shalt not eat thereof; thine ass shall be violently 
 taken away from before thy face, and shall not be restored 
 to thee ; thy sheep shall be given unto thine enemies, and 
 thou shalt have none to rescue them. Thy sons and thy 
 daughtersi shall be given unto another people, and thine 
 eyes shall look and fail with longing for them all the day 
 long ; and there shall be no might in thy hand. 
 
 It did not enter into the divine invention of mischief to 
 curse his rebellious people with the knout and the dungeon, 
 the husband torn from the wife, the daughter stripped and 
 flogged in the market place, the babe dashed to pieces in 
 sight of the mother, brutal might everywhere triumphant, 
 virtue, modesty and right trodden in the gutter, spat upon, 
 massacred. But such has it been of late with the Jews in 
 Russia ; such it is feared will be again. 
 
 Is it, then, a matter for wonder that so many of the 
 Nihilistic authors of anti-Russian books have been Jews ? 
 Is it surprising that the Jews have aided the propaganda 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 65 
 
 against the Russian Government ? Under such disabilities 
 is there anything astonishing in the fact that there is a 
 good deal of wretchedness, knavery, dirt, squalor, and 
 deceit among the commoner class of Jews in Russia ? What 
 kind of a miracle would it be that, in spite of persecution, 
 stripes, murder, enforced penury and hunger, with debarred 
 constitutional, social, or any other rights, except now and 
 then to see the light of heaven, should raise a people to 
 the level of the masses of free countries, such as England 
 and America ? 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 vows OF VENGEANCE. 
 
 The Count Stravensky rode homewards with a conflict of 
 many harassing feelings stirring his heart. He would have 
 done much to save Anna Klosstock. Ever since he had 
 met her on the road to the old palace of the Government, 
 her face had been continually before him. Had he been a 
 man of a stronger will, he would probably have prevented 
 her from going to that fatal house. But he knew his own 
 weakness ; it was not so much want of courage as the 
 knowledge that he was not a true subject of the Czar j 
 true to Russia, yes — but untrue to his oath of allegiance, 
 untrue to his order, and would have been openly hostile if 
 any good could have come of it. 
 
 Meanwhile, however, he was one of the powers behind 
 the popular movement of the time, and with the hope that 
 the day would come when he might strike a blow for 
 liberty in open daylight and lay down his life, if need be, 
 to some purpose, to sacrifice himself now either to suspi- 
 cion or to personal malice would be a useless waste of 
 power and possibility. 
 
 Count Stravensky had already been able to help on the 
 
66 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 chances of the coming of that glorious future of which 
 many patriots were dreaming, and he knew better than to 
 forfeit his place and position voluntarily and to no good. 
 But for the knowledge that he was already deeply com- 
 promised and might be charged at any moment, though he 
 had every reason to believe his secret was well kept, he 
 would have resisted the Governor's arrogant order. It 
 would have been an inopportune moment to have defied 
 the administrative authority — the town on the eve of open 
 revolt, the Governor anxious to signalize the opening of 
 his government. 
 
 The count ground his teeth and vowed to himself as 
 speedy a vengeance as a calm discretion would permit him 
 to take in the interest of the great cause to which he was 
 secretly pledged. He had been publicly insulted ; but 
 that was as nothing compared with the outrage which had 
 been committed upon the beautiful girl with whom he had 
 spoken on the previous day upon the road he was now 
 traversing. While he bit his lips and clenched his right 
 hand with rage and indignation, the tears streamed down 
 his rugged cheeks, as the two pictures of human misery 
 rose up before him — the pale, lovely face of the Jew's 
 daughter as he had seen her on the previous day, her great 
 violet eyes full of mute appeal, her bronzed locks in 
 picturesque masses about her face, her red lips and white 
 teeth, her fine noble figure, and the mad, bloodshot eyes 
 that had met his gaze near the scaffold, to which she had 
 been brutally and ruthlessly condemned. 
 
 '' Are we men or fiends that we can do such deeds ? 
 What sort of miserable cowards are we to stand by and 
 see them done ? " 
 
 His hand upon his sword, he turned his horse in the 
 direction of the once happy but now wretched town of 
 Czarovna, but only to wheel round again and continue his 
 ride home. He resolved, however, if the poor creature 
 
£V ORDER OF THE CZAR, 67 
 
 lived through her terrible punishment, and escaped Siberia, 
 or were vouchsafed years enough to pass the ordeal of both 
 knout and Siberia, he would do something towards making 
 the remainder of her life bearable. And he recalled to 
 mind the case of Madame Lapukin, who, some hundred 
 years before, was flogged almost to death, her tongue torn 
 out, and then skillfully saved from death to be sent to 
 Siberia, whence she was released by Peter the Third when 
 she was an old woman. 
 
 This awful example gave the count a passing hope that 
 if Anna did not die, as he prayed she might, he would, in 
 some way, be able to help her, if it were only to make her 
 a witness of the downfall and punishment of Petronovitch ; 
 for of the Governor's ultimate ruin and death he felt a 
 moral certainty, and he humbly asked God to save him a 
 red hand in this. 
 
 They all prayed, you will observe, on whichever side 
 they were. Even Petronovitch knelt publicly and helped 
 the priest to give thanks for the discovery of plots against 
 the Czar and the punishment of the instigators thereof. If 
 the Divine Power were one that could be influenced by 
 th^se miscellaneous petitions, what a complication of 
 investigation would be involved in the answering of their 
 conflicting requests ? But God's laws against tyranny, 
 persecution, murder, are irrevocable ; they are often slow 
 of operation, but in the end the wrongdoers are punished. 
 The end may seem to us long in coming ; it is not so 
 when we remember what atoms we are, and that our lives 
 are only as a moment in the longevity of God and the 
 great world 
 
 Stravensky, among other things, came to the conclusion 
 that his life and work would be of more value to the cause 
 of Liberty, and his chance of success against Petronovitch 
 greater, if he lived in St. Petersburg ; and when he reached 
 his estate and sat down to converse with his steward he 
 
68 £y ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 informed him that he had resolved to let his property in 
 the province of Vilnavitch, the governorship of which was 
 no longer to his liking, and take up his abode in St. Peters- 
 burg. He did not give his faithful servant any further 
 information, but he had in his heart a big scheme of 
 intrigue against Petronovitch, and in favor not only of the 
 Jews but of Holy Russia. Possessed of greath wealth, he 
 would devote it now in earnest to the great cause ; he 
 would lay himself out for popularity ; he would seem to be 
 a Royalist of the Royalists \ he would win his way to the 
 Czar's confidence ; he would be a social and political 
 power, in order that he might the easier swoop to his 
 revenge, and be all the more able at the right time to turn 
 and rend the personages with whom he would make a pre- 
 tence of friendship. How far the part which the count 
 proposed to himself was a noble one the reader must judge 
 for himself; how far he succeeded in his plans of patriot- 
 ism and vengeance the narrator will inform the reader in 
 due course. 
 
 If Andrea Ferrari had been the arch-fiend of evil him- 
 self, he felt that he could not have brought more calamities 
 upon his friends than had befallen them, as he conceived, 
 through his unconscious agency. While he upbraided him- 
 self, he nevertheless could not but be conscious of the fact 
 that after all he had only hastened the troubles that were 
 about to fall upon Czarovna. Given Petronovitch for 
 Governor, and the agents of the false ukase in the town, 
 something terrible must have happened sooner or later ; at 
 the same time, but for him there might have been time to 
 save Anna and the rabbi and Nathan Klosstock. 
 
 These thoughts raced through his mind even at the height 
 of the rioting about the scaffold. His usual grip left him. 
 He hesitated and was lost — or rather saved ; for had he 
 not hesitated he would have rushed into action,, and to 
 what purpose ? The knout, imprisonment, or death ! 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 69 
 
 When Anna was captured he was borne away with the 
 retreating crowd to the ghetto, pressed upon by the sol- 
 diers, and presently hustled and struck by the gathering 
 rioters and agents of the false ukase, who were already 
 assembling in the streets of the Jewish quarter. 
 
 With a deep vow of vengeance against Petronovitch, he 
 hurried on to the assistance of Grunstein, and with a view 
 to reach the good old Jew's hiding-place. 
 
 Pushing open the front door, leading through the porch 
 into the house, he found Grunstein, torn, tattered and 
 bleeding, his wife bathing his temples. 
 
 The threatening cry of the mob could be heard from far 
 away. It was like the first booming of the coming storm. 
 It would come nearer and nearer every minute, until it fell 
 with a crash, and with lightning and sudden death in it. 
 
 Ferrari locked and bolted every door behind him. 
 " Bloodhounds," he growled between his teeth, " wait 
 awhile ! " 
 
 " I am not hurt ; it is nothing," said Moses Grunstein^ 
 rising as he spoke. " Deborah was alarmed, but it is 
 nothing ; would that I might have died to save that poor 
 victim of our neighbor Klosstock ! " 
 
 '* We are indeed a cursed race," exclaimed Ferrari. 
 
 " To-day, it is true, our Father Abraham is on the side 
 of the Philistines," said Moses Grunstein. " 'And thy life 
 shall hang in doubt before thee ; and thou shalt fear day 
 and night, and shalt have none assurance of thy life.' The 
 curse is upon us." 
 
 " But He shall yet bring us to the land which our fathers 
 possessed," said Deborah, " and do us good, and we shall 
 be blessed." 
 
 Deborah not only comforted her husband with plaster 
 for his body, but with plaster for his perturbed mind. 
 
 '' That will do," said Ferrari. " I expect, the truth be- 
 ing known, the Lord has nothing whatever to do with it, the 
 
70 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 trouble is somehow in ourselves ; but, mistress, where is 
 your servant ? " 
 
 " She is in my chamber, packing my jewels." 
 
 " Call her down." 
 
 Deborah called the maid, who came with a small box in 
 her hand and a bundle of rich silk shawls on her arm. 
 
 •' Listen," said Ferrari ; " listen, all of you ! The wolves 
 are without, there is no time to lose. Is all prepared for 
 our retreat ? " 
 
 "All," said Grunstein. 
 
 " Then let us waste no time." 
 
 For the moment there was a lull outside ; it seemed as 
 if the mob had passed on. 
 
 " As if," said the old man,. divining Ferrari's thoughts, 
 '* they had seen the ancient sign and we are saved." 
 
 *' Did any one see you enter ? " 
 
 ** When ? " asked the old man. 
 
 " When we were separated, and you made for home." 
 
 " I think not." 
 
 " A stranger followed me," said Ferrari : " one of the 
 agents of the rising — an Eastern man, I'll swear. I had 
 nearly stabbed him on the doorstep ; but he can wait. 
 Come, dear friends." 
 
 '' I heard thee bar the doors ; we are safe, my son, at 
 present ; let us refresh ourselves ; thou art pale, thy lips 
 are dry." 
 
 At a nod, Deborah^ his wife, brought wine and cakes 
 from a little cabinet. 
 
 '' I like your courage, old friend," said Ferrari, ** it re- 
 bukes me ; my nerves are shaken." 
 
 '' I know how easy it is to retire to those chambers 
 within," said Grunstein, " and there is no need to run 
 now." 
 
 " Would to Heaven we might have stood yonder by that 
 scaffold," said Ferrari ; " surely, after all, it would have been 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR, 71 
 
 best to die like the idiot, who atoned nobly for his betrayal 
 of Losinski." 
 
 " That did he," said the old man. 
 
 " It is hard for me to persuade myself that I am not as 
 guilty of Losinski's death as the suborned witness was," 
 said Ferrari. **' It was I who brought the police spy upon 
 the house of Klosstock ; my intention was to warn and save 
 — instead of that I was the trail the bloodhounds followed ; 
 the face of Anna Klosstock will haunt me to my dying day ; 
 I only consent to live that I may stab Petronovitch to 
 death with the same ghastly memory uppermost in his 
 black heart. Hush ! did you not hear a noise in the outer 
 hall ? " 
 
 As he spoke there was a hurrying of feet in the street 
 outside, then the crash of a window, followed by the report 
 of firearms. 
 
 " They are coming," said Deborah, creeping to the 
 side of the old man. 
 
 " Yes," he said, '' have no fear ; all will be well." 
 
 " Pray God it may," Deborah answered. 
 
 " Go forward with the shawls and jewels," said the old 
 man, addressing the girl; '' and be not afraid." 
 
 " I am not afraid." said the maid, " now that our guest 
 has come." 
 
 Ferrari smiled and bowed. '' Madame," he said, turning 
 to the mistress, " I hope my sojourn under your roof will 
 bring you better fortune than my presence at the Kloss- 
 tocks has brought to them and theirs." 
 
 "You blame yourself without a cause, my generous 
 Moses says, and I can well believe it." 
 
 " You may trust to my good intentions," Ferrari replied ; 
 " you shall also find me grateful." 
 
 " We are in the hands of God ! " she answered. 
 
 "Amen ! " said the old man. 
 
 A thundering at the outer door was the defiant reply of 
 the mob to these pious ejaculations. 
 
72 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 " Come," said Ferrari, and they followed him at once. 
 
 " Now, my friend," continued the guest, " we will escort 
 the women to safety." 
 
 The old man rose and led the way. Ferrari locked and 
 bolted each door as they went along ; intending, neverthe- 
 less, to return and unbolt some of them, for it was not in 
 human nature to slink away and not strike one blow for 
 his friends and the bleeding cause of Freedom. 
 
 Arrived at the well, the women were soon placed beypnd 
 danger. 
 
 *' And now, good friend," said Ferrari, " do thou await 
 me here ; descend, keep watch at the entrance below, and 
 I will join you anon." / 
 
 Grunstein begged him to run no further risk, but rather 
 make good his retreat and safety. 
 
 Ferrari made no answer, but laying aside his Jewish 
 gabardine and the wig and beard of the Moscow- banker, 
 turned up his sleeves to the elbow. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A GREAT FIGHT ; BUT THE RED COCK CROWS 
 OVER THE GHETTO. 
 
 The entrance to the well, which was the narrow way to 
 the underground palace of the wise old Jew, was a small 
 open square or yard leading into the back of the Grunstein 
 warehouse or store room, a not very safe place if the mob 
 made their way through the strong iron-bound door that 
 gave upon it. But Ferrari was master of the situation, 
 seeing that, go as far as he might through the premises, he 
 had strong doors between him and the rioters, unless 
 through any indiscretion arising out of his excitement they 
 should score an advantage against him. The yard in ques- 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 73 
 
 tion was unapproachable from without, seeing that on one 
 side it was shut in by the warehouse before-mentioned, 
 .and on the other by the beginning of the overhanging 
 rocks which were the commencement of that curious geo- 
 logical formation the secret of which Moses Grunstein had 
 discovered long ago, to his great satisfaction if not to his 
 financial profit, 
 
 Ferrari, with the master key of the place in his hand, 
 being also on the right side of all the bolts and bars, stood 
 in the little courtyard of the underground retreat, and 
 listened. He had given the knife which had served 
 ftim so well on the night of his escape from Klosstock's 
 house to Anna — alas ! to so little purpose — but he had 
 replaced it from Grunstein's store with a superb example 
 of the cutler's art. It was not a dagger in the general 
 acceptation of the term ; it was something between a 
 butcher's knife and the stiletto of the Spaniard ; it had the 
 fine temper of the latter with the strength of the former, 
 and it rested in a heavy leathern sheath ; it had not the 
 handle of the dagger, but was attached by a strap to the 
 wrist. In a pocket upon Ferrari's hip was a revolver, and 
 in his resolute eyes there was a whole armory of weapons ; 
 for whatever one may have previously seen of the ugly 
 side of Ferrari was as nothing compared with the murder- 
 ous look there was now in his face as he stood listening 
 for the mob, conscious of his power and full of a determin- 
 ation to avenge on somebody the death of the rabbi and 
 the almost worse than assassination of Anna Klosstock. 
 
 Let us glance at him in the streak of sunny daylight that 
 falls into the narrow gorge we have called the courtyard, 
 between the well and the Grunstein warehouse. Wearing 
 a coarse grey shirt of woolen texture, a pair of breeches 
 with high boots, he is stripped for battle. He is of me- 
 dium height, bony, lithe, some would say thin, and his 
 muscles are of iron. His shirt is open at the throat, 
 
74 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 showing a shapely neck ; no Adam's apple in it, but strong 
 muscular bands right and left ; his head well fixed upon 
 the neck ; and one notes that, in repose and not under the 
 tension of strong passion, head and shoulders would be 
 singularly graceful, but now the head was stiffly borne up 
 as if all the muscles of the body were strung for some big 
 athletic action. His face at first blush would have struck 
 you as more or less ascetic ; but there was something both 
 sensual and sensuous in the mouth, and just now there 
 was a drawing up and a twitching of the right corner of the 
 upper lip that suggested the snarl of a dog that is going 
 to bite. His eyes, black as night, only showed the whites, 
 except that there was a touch of the sun by way of reflec- 
 tion in the pupils, that made a lustrous suggestion of their 
 depths. The forehead was square, and had two strong 
 wrinkles above the nose and a decided scowl right across 
 the frontal bone. He had torn off the disguise of beard 
 and moustache, leaving only a short, downy moustache as 
 black as his long hair that hung about his forehead and 
 was in artistic harmony with his sun-tanned skin. 
 
 It was the face of an enthusiast, with the cunning of the 
 Jew and the hot passion in suppression of the Italian 
 bravo. But when he stretched his two arms above his 
 head, as if he were giving himself a pull together for a 
 great leap, you could see that with all the fire of physical 
 passion there was also present a capacity for restraining it 
 until the time was ripe for action. He suggested the tiger 
 getting ready for a spring. 
 
 Behold him creep to the great door and fling it back 
 upon its hinges. Behold him leave it wide open for easy 
 egress. Behold him pass along to the next door and 
 listen. He hears no sound. He draws the bolts, releases 
 the bar. He is now in the midst of bales and boxes of 
 skins and rich textiles. Still no sound? Yes. A mur- 
 mur that is not faraway. He opens the next door; he is 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 75 
 
 in the Jew's living room, the apartment where he and 
 Grunstein had drunk confusion to the foe. The mob is 
 at the door j they have broken down the two other doors, 
 and are thundering at this. Ferrari draws his knife, 
 kisses the blade and snarls. The mob have broken in 
 one of the panels. There are two bolts on the upper 
 half of the door. Ferrari undoes one of these, whereupon 
 half the panel gives way, and there is a yell of triumph 
 without, followed by a yell of pain. Two arms that were 
 thrust into the opening have been instantly seized by Fer- 
 rari in one bony hand, to be literally scored from wrist to 
 elbow with red gashes that leave the flesh hanging like 
 loose bandages. 
 
 And now Ferrari's lips are red, for he has kissed his 
 knife again, and he laughs like a maniac. " Come on, 
 scum of the earth ! Don't be bashful. Come on ; there's 
 zoom for all of you, and to spare ! " But they did not 
 hear a word, although they had paused for a moment to 
 let the wounded assailants fall to the rear. 
 
 Bang, bang, crash came the blows upon the door, as if 
 a very battering-ram of old had got to work. They were 
 determined men, these ; not the sort who passed on 
 because they met a strange resistance ; besides, they knew 
 the value of Grunstein's store. Down came the top half 
 of the door, and crash into the faces that looked in went 
 Ferrari's knife amidst howls of pain and execration. 
 
 And they saw Ferrari, those who were not blinded 
 with his knife, and he laughed aloud, and yelled, and 
 leaped, and flourished his weapon, and had nearly lost his 
 life, as a consequence, the sharp crack of a pistol and the 
 whiz of a bullet causing him at once to dodge his head 
 and rush for the second room. He had only just time to 
 swing the door upon the jambs and bolt and bar it when 
 the mob were inside the next room and had flung them- 
 selves upon the door ; but it was made of stronger and 
 
76 BV ORDER OF THE C/.AR. 
 
 sterner stuff than the other, and it had the additional pro- 
 tection of an iron bar. 
 
 *' Don't be a fool, Andrea," Ferrari said to himself, 
 almost hissing the words, as if he were addressing some 
 second person. *' Don't be a fool ; would you let them 
 catch you and skin you alive? Don't be a fool, I tell 
 you ! " 
 
 His hand sought his hip pocket and then withdrew. 
 
 "No, not yet," he said; ''you will empty your pistol 
 at the last stand." 
 
 The door was thick, but he thought, between the blows 
 upon it, he could hear the ruffians dragging away the 
 Grunstein bales ; he saw them indeed as much as heard 
 them, in his imagination, gloating and yelling over their 
 spoil, and maddened with the drink they must have found 
 in the first room of the strange old house. The door 
 cracked. He tightened his belt, examined his knife, gavi 
 his shirt sleeves another roll above the elbow, that snarling 
 curl of the upper lip showed one of his teeth, the one called 
 the canine tooth, and his delicate nostrils dilated. How 
 curiously the daintily-modelled nose seemed to contradict 
 the sensuous and somewhat cruel mouth. 
 
 A piece of the door flew past him in splinters followed 
 by a shout of triumph, but no venturesome arm was thrust 
 through the ragged aperture. Ferrari thought he recog- 
 nized the voice of the man who had been a ringleader in 
 the first rush upon the Jews near the scaffold — one of the 
 strangers who had come into the town from Elizabethgrad. 
 It was different from the voices and accent of the Czarovna 
 men. 
 
 Another aperture in the door was made, and it was as 
 if the assailants had kept silence as a signal for their 
 leader to speak. " Now, you rat, we've got you ; say your 
 prayers, you filthy Jew." 
 
 Yes, it was the voice of the ruffian who had come into 
 Czarovna with the false ukase and the pistol and dagger. 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 77 
 
 " Come and take me, then," said Ferrari, his face as 
 near the hole as he dared to place it, and his voice as calm 
 as if he were speaking to some one in the open street, and 
 without fear. *' Make a hole big enough to let in one at a 
 time, and I'll fight you all, you wretched canaille of the 
 earth — cowards, thieves, cut-throats, and assassins of 
 women ! " 
 
 The challenge seemed to be accepted with a howl of 
 anger and derision, and the blows at the door were renewed. 
 They were now literally battering on the bar, and they 
 made no way. Another pause ; but no arm came through 
 the broken panel. 
 
 " I'll open to you if you will thrust in your filthy leader,'* 
 shouted Ferrari. 
 
 "Open then," responded the stranger; and the mob 
 gave a yell that was something in the nature of a cheer. 
 
 At that moment some kind of reinforcement arrived, 
 and it was as if a dozen men at one swing flung themselves 
 upon the door armed with blacksmiths' hammers. The 
 iron bar bent before the assault, the door shook upon its 
 hinges. 
 
 Ferrari glanced at his base of retreat, and held his breath. 
 The blows were repeated again and again, and presently 
 the timber began to give, and in an incautious moment a 
 hand was thrust through to seize the bar with a view to lift it. 
 In a moment the venturesome hand was almost severed from 
 the wrist, and a cry rang out fierce enough to chill even 
 the hot Italian blood of Ferrari — a cry not alone of one 
 man, but of a score, a rasping howl of vengeance, followed 
 the next moment with a renewed attack. 
 
 That which struck the only note of fear in Ferrari's 
 breast was the sudden firing of several muskets into the 
 broken door. But he was as cunning as he was brave ; 
 he only had one desire at the moment, and that was to 
 have his hand on the leader of the gang. Silence followed 
 
78 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 the firing, and the Italian guessed its object and humored 
 the hope of the foe. 
 
 " You have done for me, you cowards," he screamed, 
 and then gasped and fell heavily j but he was on his feet 
 in a second, his knife clutched firmly in his right hand. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! " laughed the leader at the top of his 
 voice, and the rest joined him in chorus — such a cruel, 
 brutal laugh ! Then there was a scufile and a rush, and 
 the next moment the leader squeezed his body through 
 the half-open door, and in an instant was seized and 
 dragged through the room, and beyond the next door and 
 into the little courtyard of the Aladdin's Palace under- 
 ground, the great door swinging back, with a closing and 
 shutting of automatic bolts like the ring of doom. Before 
 he could hardly breathe the man from Elizabethgrad was 
 disarmed and stamped upon, 
 
 " Wait, my friend, wait," said Ferrari, fastening the 
 remaining bolts of the great door. The mob pouring into 
 the breach of the previous door had evidently paused to 
 look for the dead Ferrari and their live leader ; not finding 
 them were puzzled, and before attacking the next barrier 
 had spent some of their energies in ransacking the ware- 
 house, which gave them a very satisfactory plunder. 
 
 Meanwhile Ferrari, taking his opponent by the throat, 
 raised him to his feet. He was a powerful, low-browed, 
 shaggy-haired Russian, in a sheepskin jacket, worn, no 
 doubt, more particularly to please the mujiks, for whose 
 interests he professed to be fighting. He was dazed and 
 stunned, but shook himself free of Ferrari, and looked at 
 him with a threatening eye. 
 
 "Well, Christian," said Ferrari. "Well thief, murderer, 
 beast ! How will you die ? Will you be crucified ? That 
 is a death you talk about a deal, you gentle religious folk. 
 Ha, you brute, I have a great mind to lip you into a 
 thousand pieces ! " 
 
B V ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 79 
 
 Ferrari flashed his knife in the man's face. The 
 Russian did not flinch. He fixed a dull gaze upon Fer- 
 rari's bony face and sparkling eyes. 
 
 " Give me a chance," at last said the leader from 
 Elizabethgrad. 
 
 " A chance to kill me ? " 
 
 '' A chance of my life." 
 
 *' Ho, ho ! " laughed Ferrari, *' do you ask a Jew to do 
 that ? Do you ask a Jew who crucifies babies and makes 
 sacrifices of Christians at his bloody feasts ? Do you ask 
 me to save you ? " 
 
 *' To save yourself," said the man, sullenly. 
 
 "You will kill me, then?" 
 
 ** They will," said the man, pointing to the closed door. 
 
 ** Have you not read in what you call your Scriptures 
 what the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob did for His 
 people in the old days ? 
 
 No reply. 
 
 " Answer me, you thief, or I will stab you." 
 
 " I have answered," the man replied. And now there 
 began a fresh assault upon Ferrari's last barrier, and the 
 long ears of the man from Elizabethgrad moved as a horse's 
 might, and a tremor of hope ran through every muscle. 
 
 " Your friends are coming ; are you not sorry you left 
 them ? " said Ferrari with a sneer. 
 
 Just as the spy in the opening chapter of these records 
 lost his life to Ferrari's knife by a glance aside in a moment 
 of victorious pride and cynicism, so for the twinkling of an 
 eye was Ferrari off his guard with his unbound prisoner, 
 'who sprang at him and held him with the hug of a bear. 
 Neither of them spoke. They fell to the ground with a 
 thud ; they writhed ; Ferrari's knife fell from his grip, but 
 it was still fastened to his wrist. He could not recover it 
 within his hand ; his opponent was feeling for it, and also 
 trying to seize Ferrari by his right wrist ; the fight on both 
 
So BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 sides concentrated in this. The man from Elizabethgrad 
 held Ferrari in so strong a hug that the Italian could not 
 move his hand sufficiently to clasp the handle of his knife. 
 The Russian's knife and revolver were on the ground only 
 a few yards away ; the man from Elizabethgrad was trying 
 to drag Ferrari in their direction, but Ferrari had twined 
 his strong muscular right leg round the two heavy limbs of 
 the other wrestler, and worked it as a rudder ; and more- 
 over his left hand was on the throat of his assailant, and he 
 fairly gripped the wretch's windpipe as in a vice. At the 
 same time the man from Elizabethgrad held Ferrari with a 
 close persistence that only had to last long enough to be 
 fatal, for it would in time have squeezed the very life out 
 of him. 
 
 And the thunder of the attacking party without fell upon 
 the great door, fell upon it in measured strokes ; a veritable 
 ringing file fire of blows, with now and then an added rush 
 in force, that shook the timbers and drew forth grunts and 
 screams from bolts and bars. 
 
 These sounds were like bells of hopeful song to the man 
 from Elizabethgrad, who under their inspiration made a 
 sudden and almost superhuman effort, as also at the same 
 moment did Ferrari, who with the breath nearly battered 
 out of his body recovered his knife. Feeling the handle of 
 it within his grasp was the one touch of magic needed for 
 his salvation. With a sense of fainting coming over him, 
 he made a last attempt to free his right arm. He had held on 
 to his opponent's throat, who was also getting weak from 
 approaching suffocation. It was the supreme moment for 
 both of them. Ferrari wrenched his arm free, clutched his 
 knife, drew it steadily upwards, thrust it into his opponent's 
 side, and fainted. 
 
 At the entrance to the retreat, just within the well, had 
 stood awaiting the return of Ferrari his friend and host. 
 Between his sighs and prayers he had heard all that had 
 
MV ORDER OF THE CZAR, %\ 
 
 transpired in the little courtyard ; heard it and prayed and 
 listened, looked up to the sky, and had seen nothing. Once 
 he was on the point of ascending to the daylight, but hear- 
 ing that Ferrari had a prisoner, who of course would be 
 bound, did not consider his assistance necessary ; then he 
 had gone back into the cavern to reassure Deborah and to 
 bring some weapon away — he knew not why, so bewildered 
 was he. When he returned all was still ; he heard, as he 
 thought, hard breathing, and thought perhaps Ferrari had 
 executed his prisoner, and was waiting to learn the outcome 
 of the attack on the old house. 
 
 " Andrea Ferrari 1 " he called in a soft voice. No reply. 
 " Andrea ! " he exclaimed. No answer. Now louder, 
 " Andrea Ferrari, my dear friend ! Art thou there } " 
 
 Then the old man crept from his hiding-place and peered 
 out above the coping stone of the well. There lay the two 
 combatants. He issued forth and hurried to Ferrari. At 
 the same time he glanced cautiously at the enemy, taking 
 also the precaution to unsheathe the knife he had brought 
 from his retreat. The Russian was dead. Ferrari moved 
 and sighed. Moses Grunstein knelt down beside him and 
 poured down his throat a measure of brandy from a flask 
 at his girdle. The Italian sighed more deeply and opened 
 his eyes. For a moment there was a look of agony in 
 them; it gradually changed into a smile, and then he 
 struggled painfully to his feet. 
 
 At the same time the mob thundered upon the great 
 oaken door with a din of terrible resolution. 
 
 *' Come, my son, come ! " said the old man, " or we are 
 loat." 
 
 " Yes," said Ferrari ; ** thank God in the meantime that 
 we are saved." 
 
 As he looked up and uttered this brief prayer he turned 
 the Russian over with his foot and spat upon the bleeding 
 body. 
 
82 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 " Come — come," said Grunstein. 
 
 Ferrari with a look of hatred in the direction of the mob 
 stood aside while Grunstein descended the well. Then 
 shaking his fist at the mob he could not see he followed 
 his leader. Standing at the entrance to the approaches of 
 the cave the old man said, " Now, my son, to perform a 
 miracle. It has pleased God to afflict us sorely ; it has 
 pleased Him at least to let His hand fall upon one of our 
 persecutors ; it may please Him to save us for a happy 
 future. For the present we are safe, and we shall emerge 
 again free ; these storms of persecution and death come and 
 go ; the fury past, there will be peace, and Moses Grunstein 
 has some treasures left. Listen ; it is a powerful barrier, 
 the last one, is it not? " 
 
 " It laughs at them," said Ferrari. 
 
 *' But it will give way anon," said the old man, "and 
 then it cannot be that they will not examine the well ; 
 possibly suspect its secret. So now for the miracle I told 
 thee of." 
 
 The old man took Ferrari by the hand. " A few steps 
 to the left, my son." 
 
 Passing to the left they went a few steps forward, and 
 then the old man stopped. 
 
 " What do you hear ? " asked Ferrari's host. 
 
 " A rush of water." 
 
 " It is the stream that passes through the cavern at the 
 further end j a small stream, butconfined to a narrow gully 
 it makes a great noise. I turn it aside, and it enters the 
 well until the water rises above the entrance." 
 
 He stooped as he spoke, and with considerable effort 
 turned a heavy screw that creaked and creaked with a 
 painful sound, and presently the old man rose to his feet. 
 There was a change in the noise of the water; it was now 
 heard as if falling from a height, and with a splashing 
 sound. 
 
^y ORDER OF THE CZAR, 83 
 
 " We retrace our steps," said the old man. 
 
 They returned to the entrance of the cave. A stream 
 of water was falling into the well. 
 
 " Now, my son," said the old man, " turn thine eyes to 
 the right." 
 
 " Yes," said Ferrari. 
 
 " Raise the lamp." 
 
 Ferrari held the lamp above his head. /• 
 
 " You see a ring of iron ? '* 
 
 ''Yes." 
 
 "Grasp it." 
 
 Ferrari laid hold upon it. 
 
 *' Stand back and pull it. Keep free from the entrance." 
 
 Ferrari pulled the ring. There fell down a slab of metal 
 or hard wood, entirely closing communication with the well 
 and the exit above. 
 
 " The water will rise up in front of it," said the old man, 
 " and no skill in Russia will find out its secret. When it 
 is time for us to go forth, we open our door and admit our 
 watery guard, which will scatter itself in these passages in 
 ten minutes and our egress remains as before. Without 
 this sentinel some prying devil more clever than his fellows 
 might find our hall of entrance ; but now if he has a mind 
 to drop into the well he finds no rest for the sole of his 
 foot ; only the water. And didst thou notice a rope hang- 
 ing from the rock over the yard ? " 
 
 "■ No." 
 
 "They will notice it when they beat down the door, and 
 close by pieces of rock and soil as if someone had clam- 
 bered up to the daylight ; and that will be regarded as thy 
 means of escape, and so perad venture the well may claim no 
 attention whatever. Come then, my friend, let us go within 
 and praise the Lord, for His mercy endureth for ever ! " 
 
 Ferrari shrugged his shoulders at the invitation, think- 
 ing of the dead rabbi, and the worse than dead Queen of 
 the Ghetto. 
 
S4 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 And while they prayed and feasted, and slept and ate and 
 drank in security — Moses and his wife and servant, and 
 the stranger within his gates —the storm of civil and unholy 
 strife, the red waves of persecution passed over Czarovna 
 like a blight from hell. Helpless women and children fell 
 before the lust and savagery of ignorance, fanaticism, 
 blood-guiltiness, and revenge. Once more the cruel fate of 
 their predecessors of Egypt had sought out the Israelites 
 in this remote corner of the world, and they were beaten 
 with many stripes, tortured with rod and fire, their house- 
 hold goods taken from them, their altars and shrines 
 desolated, their numbers decimated with fire and sword. 
 Czarovna was almost wiped from the face of the earth. In 
 the daytime the ghetto resounded with cries of death and 
 yells of drunken vengeance. At night the red cock crowed 
 over the long street, and flamed high above the eaves and 
 chimneys of the home of the Klosstocks. And when the 
 work of desolation came to an end, the country round 
 about was filled with houseless Jews seeking the shelter of 
 wood and forest, making their way to the river that held 
 its course through hostile town and village to the distant 
 sea. 
 
 The historian's duty in regard to this part of his narrative 
 is complete with the simple record of the sack and burning 
 of Czarovna, and the intimation that out of this flame and 
 smoke of desolation came forth at last safe through the 
 furnace Andrea Ferrari, Moses Grunstein, his wife and 
 servant. How Ferrari eventually made his way through the 
 spies and police of Russia is not a matter of so much 
 account as what he did with his liberty, which it will be the 
 business of the narrator to set forth in future chapters ; but 
 it is important to relate that he left Anna Klosstock a 
 miserable wreck in the Christian hospital at Czarovna, 
 subject to the treatment of local medical science, which 
 prided itself on the roughest and readiest means of curing 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 85 
 
 those victims of the knout whose friends had not been able 
 to purchase the death-blow — curing them that they should 
 be enabled to undergo such further punishment as their 
 crimes involved by order of the Czar. 
 
 There were in particular two men in the world — Count 
 Stravensky and Andrea Ferrari — whose hearts bled for 
 Anna Klosstock, and who had sworn to avenge both herself 
 and her father upon Ivan Petronovitch, if not upon the Czar 
 himself, under whose government such deeds were possible 
 as those which blasted the house of Klosstock, giving over 
 its virtuous inmates to the pangs of exile, torture, infamy, 
 and untimely death. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " TRAGEDY." 
 
 A group of prisoners on the march, attended by Cossacks 
 of the Dun and Tartar Guards. The wiry steeds and tall 
 lances of the former break up the monotonous line of the 
 travelers afoot, emphasizing the crouching despondency of 
 some and the defiant carriage of others, among the forlorn 
 crowd of human misery. 
 
 In the foreground a man has fallen by the way. He is 
 young, and has apparently collapsed through sheer bodily 
 fatigue. The one woman of the group, in the act of stoop- 
 ing to assist him, is thrust back, with the butt end of a 
 trooper's rifle. She turns towards the soldier with a 
 mingled look of appeal and hatred. It is a beautiful face, 
 stamped with a suffering that has no resignation in it. 
 The eyes are sunken, but full of fire. The low well-knit 
 forehead is wrinkled with pain. The mouth is pursed into 
 an expression of angry revolt. If ever the time for ven- 
 geance came, you feel that this woman would not abhor the 
 
$6 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 assassin's knife or the dynamiter's shell ; and in regard to 
 the captive whose physical strength is not equal to the 
 spirit of the martyr, you find yourself hoping that he may 
 now once for all be released from the living death to which 
 his companions are journeying. 
 
 It was only a picture, and hardly that. It was the 
 rough hurried sketch of a first idea ; yet there were lines of 
 suggestion in it that might have belonged to the finished 
 intentions of a great work. The woman was more than a 
 sketch ; or, if not, the brush was an inspired one ; for there 
 was a world of suffering and agony in it, mental and phy- 
 sical. You would say to yourself as you gazed at it, 
 " that woman was once a lovely girl ; she has endured 
 wrongs the most terrible ; she has fought against a cruel 
 destiny and been worsted at every turn ; but she has one 
 hope left — the desire for revenge ; and the artist who has 
 told us this must know her history ; and her history is a 
 tragedy," 
 
 When you look close into the picture you saw what 
 appeared to be confused and random strokes, wild splashes 
 of color, faces and forms hinted at ; but standing apart a 
 little way you found that the work took form and shape 
 and became a living story of human persecution, with a 
 background of dreary waste and clouds full of wintry 
 anger. The woman's face of all others stood out an almost 
 finished study. 
 
 " And last night," said the young artist, " I dreamt I 
 was that poor wretch falling by the way, and that an angel 
 interposed between that woman and the victim of a tyran- 
 nous rule, and I was borne to heaven ; and when we reach- 
 ed the sunshine, the angel was the woman — and she was 
 beautiful." 
 
 ^' Yes, it is given to genius to have dreams and to see 
 visions," said Dick Chetwynd, laying a friendly hand upon 
 the young man's shoulder, and at the same time standing 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 87 
 
 in a critical attitude before the picture, '* and it Is given 
 to genius when it paints to realize its visions. Something 
 of a nightmare this one, eh, Phil ? Tell me all about it. 
 For a bit of rapid work it is marvelous." 
 
 "You think it is good? Well, I am glad, because I 
 rather fancied it myself," said the artist, putting in a fresh 
 touch or two in order to heighten the effect of the figures 
 standing out against the sky. It was a long almost un- 
 broken sweep of lurid cloud, suggesting the hopelessness 
 of the prisoners, as much as the weakness of a setting sun 
 that had beneath it the cold dreary waste of a Siberian 
 landscape in winter. 
 
 " You are a genius, Phil ; that woman's face is a stroke 
 of inspiration." 
 
 " How particularly amiable, you are to-day," was the 
 young artist's reply. 
 
 " Just, Philip, not amiable ; just. If I have hitherto 
 been more critical than complimentary, I have been influ- 
 enced by a desire to keep you from taking the bit into 
 your mouth and bolting with some wild idea ; but when one 
 has evidence of power in a friend's work, why not admit 
 it ? I don't hesitate in your case, because I feel sure you 
 will appreciate the responsibility of what is called genius." 
 
 How little Dick Chetwynd imagined that his previous 
 efforts to guard Philip Forsyth from letting his genius run 
 away with him would all be discounted in the history of 
 this picture, though in a direction of danger utterly dif- 
 ferent from anything that could possibly have occurred to 
 him ! We are all more or less engaged in protecting our- 
 selves from dangers and troubles that never occur, to fall 
 into pits and snares and toils the least looked for among 
 all our forecasts of possible misfortunes. 
 
 '' Don't think for a moment that I accept your kindly 
 verdict about genius," said the artist ; " it gives me plea- 
 sure when you like my work, but what, in your estimation, 
 is genius ? '* 
 
f 
 88 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 Philip laid down his palette and brushes, and offering 
 Chetwynd a cigarette, began to smoke one himself. 
 
 *' The very question the editor of The Evening Critic 
 has been asking in his very interrogatory journal ; and not 
 a bad vacation subject either." 
 
 *' And what is the conclusion ? " asked the artist. 
 
 " That talent does easily what others do with difficulty, 
 while genius does what talent cannot do ; in other words, 
 or rather in Lord Lytton's, ' genius does what it must and 
 talent does what it can.' " 
 
 " And what is your own opinion ? " 
 
 " When I consider my own particular work," said Chet- 
 wynd, " I come to the conclusion that Carlyle was right 
 when he said that genius is the infinite capacity of taking 
 pains ; and when I look at your sketch, Philip, I believe 
 genius to be the capacity to do with a snap of the fingers 
 or a wave of the hand that which talent with all its infinite 
 pains can never quite succeed in accomplishing." 
 
 " You are so much cleverer than I can ever hope to be 
 at logical definitions of things, and in every other way, 
 that it would be absurd on my part to debate so difficult a 
 matter, but I believe industry is genius. Look at the 
 fable of the tortoise and the snail ! I have sketched this 
 thing in quickly, but only under the influence of a sudden 
 feeling for it. Perhaps it will end here ; whereas Smith, 
 who took the medal for design, would, given such a subject, 
 settle down to it, plot away at its details, finish it elabor- 
 ately and a hundred chances to one win the prize." 
 
 " It is a quality of genius to underrate its power, to hate 
 drudgery, to rest on its oars ; but you have the higher 
 quality of talent as well as genius, Philip ; you work, and 
 you will paint that subject — * Prisoners on their way to 
 Siberia.' " 
 
 " How did you know the subject ? " asked the artist. 
 
 " It does not need that angel of yours to come down 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 89 
 
 from heaven to tell one the subject. Besides you have 
 been talkmg Siberia, the Ravelin, Russian tyranny, and 
 the hopelessness of Nihilism for weeks past." 
 
 " I have been reading Stepniak, Dostoieffsky, Gogol, 
 Lermontoff, Tolstoi, Tourgeneff, Kompert, Noble, Tikho- 
 mirov and the rest ; and I seem to have realized in their 
 revelations some of the vague dreams and suspicions of my 
 youth. You forget that I was born in St. Petersburg." 
 
 " No, I forget nothing as a rule that is worth remember- 
 ing ; and besides your mother, Lady Forsyth, does not 
 permit one to forget your life in Russia, especially when 
 she is entertaining some of the distinguished — and other- 
 wise — exiles of the North — I say ' and otherwise ' advised- 
 
 ly-" 
 
 " My mother is too magnanimous," said the artist ; 
 " she takes everybody at their own estimate." 
 
 '' Oar Evening Critic friend is engaged just now in 
 summing up his latest question upon the forces of charac- 
 ter, with illustrations of suppressed force and so on. But 
 what two forces are there that are equal to industry and 
 earnestness ? " 
 
 " You are my forces, Dick ; without your encouragement 
 I should do nothing." 
 
 " Oh, yes, you would." 
 
 " If any other fellow said half the kind things you say 
 to me I should turn from him as I would from a flatterer 
 who had some purpose to serve in sweetening his words to 
 please me. But if you say ever so much more than I de- 
 serve, I know it comes out of your kind interest in me, and 
 when you criticize me — and you have not done that to-day 
 — I know you are right." 
 
 " You are a disagreeable and an ungrateful young 
 vagabond if you doubt that I do not know that every 
 word I say to you is the truth, so far as I am capable of 
 speaking it ; and in spite of my journalistic career I have 
 
90 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 not forgotten the difference between truth and its opposite, 
 between flattery and criticism, and between sincerity and 
 humbug ; and, moreover, I believe I am still capable of an 
 honest friendship." 
 
 ** I would like to hear any man say to the contrary," 
 exclaimed Philip, shaking his fist at an imaginary foe. 
 
 " Would you ? Talk to some of my friends on the sub- 
 ject then. They will give you satisfaction." 
 
 " If we lived in another country or age, and they libelled 
 you, Dick, they would have to give me satisfaction." 
 
 " Ah, we live in a far better age, Philip, and the pen is 
 not only mightier than the sword, but it is keener than its 
 sharpest edge. And think of the stabs it can give in the 
 dark ; think of the quiet secret revenges it has in its power. 
 When a man insults you or your friend it is not necessary 
 to call him out ; besides, that is a troublesome business and 
 dangerous to oneself also. No, you simply go down to 
 your newspaper — your Evening Critic say — and you pink 
 him there ; and next day you can rub in a bit of salt, and 
 later still you can reopen the wound and make the man's 
 life a misery to him." 
 
 " You are a woful cynic, Dick ; and when I note that 
 side of your character how can you blame me if I am apt 
 to wonder whether you are only amusing yourself at my 
 expense when you tell me I am a genius and all that kind 
 of thing?" 
 
 ** What you are saying now is the cynicism of the heart ; 
 my cynicism is the cynicism of the head. And so you doubt 
 me, do you ? " 
 
 " No, Dick, I only doubt myself. When I doubt myself 
 most I ask you questions. You have not told me what you 
 think of my Siberian sketch for the medal." 
 
 When the Royal Academicians gave " Tragedy " as the 
 subject for the gold medal and traveling studentship, the 
 road to Siberia leaped into the mind of Philip Forsyth, a 
 
£Y ORDER OF THE CZAR. 91 
 
 flash of inspiration, full of vague memories of his childhood 
 and of definite stories heard from suffering lips in his later 
 years, and he straightway sketched the picture which is 
 briefly described in the opening words of this chapter. It 
 was the work of a few hours, directed by the feeling of his 
 entire life, and inspired by an enthusiastic and lofty 
 nature. 
 
 Dick Chetwynd knew how rapidly the sketch had grown 
 under the young fellow's hand ; hence his remark about 
 genius. He had also guessed the intention of the sketch, 
 but hesitating as to the wisdom of the choice of subject for 
 the Academy competition, had left it for his young friend 
 to mention the special object of it. Friendship is never 
 officious in the direction of advice or sympathy ; it is 
 anxious to give pleasure, even in its good advice ; and 
 where Art is concerned it takes into account the sensitive- 
 ness of its disciples, knowing how small a word of opposi- 
 tion randomly spoken may shrivel up a great idea, or make 
 a wound most difficult of healing. Dick Chetwynd had 
 given Philip advice without hesitation in its frankness, but 
 it was given at the right time. Had he objected ever so 
 much to this remarkable sketch, he would not have chosen 
 the moment when the imagination was hot with it, and the 
 hand fresh from its ideal interpretation, to express his hos- 
 tile opinion ; but truth to tell, in regard to this somewhat 
 modern view of " Tragedy," as suggested on the wet canvas 
 before him, he saw far greater evidence of power than 
 Philip had hitherto exhibited, and he was perfectly sincere 
 in his compliments. 
 
 The two men were in remarkable contrast, both in 
 appearance and character. Philip Forsyth — in a brown, 
 more or less threadbare, velvet jacket, with a loose black 
 silk handkerchief round his neck — was three and twenty, 
 of medium stature, lithe of limb, with black hair that fell 
 about a forehead with strongly marked eyebrows, eyes that 
 
92 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 were of a deep blue, singularly out of harmony, you would 
 think on first meeting their pathetic gaze, with the rich 
 olive complexion of the young fellow's face. His lips indi- 
 cated both refinement and passion. According to those 
 who read character in the fingers, his hands were the hands 
 of both the artist and of the executant, but there were not 
 wanting seeming contradictions of his moral character in 
 his physical anatomy. He gave you the idea of an inter- 
 esting enthusiastic lad ; for young as he was he did not 
 look his years. When he talked, however, his conversation 
 was far beyond them, and you soon discovered that he was 
 more a creature of impulse than a youth of anything like 
 settled ideas ; but at the same time you could not fail to be 
 convinced of his tremendous capacity for the art he had 
 chosen to follow. If in his conversation with Chetwynd 
 he was inclined to depreciate himself, it was not from any 
 want of confidence in his powers, but from a certain feeling 
 of modesty and in protest against the extravagancies of his 
 friend, who saw further ahead than Philip's most ambitious 
 dreams, but who, had he looked into the future with the 
 true eye of prophecy, with the vision of second sight, would 
 have been sorely and sadly troubled at the prospects of 
 his protege and friend. 
 
 Philip Forsyth was an art student, his father English, 
 his mother Irish ; his father a railway contractor, who had 
 made and lost a fortune in Russia, and who had been 
 knighted for some special services rendered in connection 
 with an EngHsh Industrial Exhibition. Philip was born 
 in St. Petersburg, which city he left with his widowed 
 mother, ten years prior to the opening of this romance, for 
 London. 
 
 His mother. Lady Forsyth, had a secured income of a 
 thousand a year, and she added to it a not inconsiderable 
 sum by her contributions to the rebel press of her native 
 city of Dublin. She received at her pleasant rooms at 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 93 
 
 Bedford-square the shining lights of the Irish party, as well 
 as the distressed refugees of foreign nationaUties. Dick 
 Chetwynd doubted the lady's sincerity and her hatred of 
 " the brutal Saxon," and used all his influence with Philip 
 to keep him clear of the Irish conspiracy. He might per- 
 haps have best served Philip's interests by attaching the 
 young fellow to the Irish cause in preference to that of the 
 despairing organization which seems to lead its chief direc- 
 tors to untold miseries of torture and death. 
 
 Whatever Lady Forsyth's opinions might be, they did 
 not prevent her from mixing in the best Saxon society that 
 would open its doors to her. If she sang " The Wearing 
 of the Green " at her own exclusive parliamentary parties, 
 she would all the same modestly join in the anthem of 
 "God Save the Queen," when she found herself in the 
 more representative circles of London life. She was of a 
 poetic temperament, had the gift of eloquence, and was 
 looked up to by a section of young art students, who 
 chafed against the stiff rules of the Royal Academy, and be- 
 lieved in the more rapid and generous curriculum of the 
 French schools. She wrote tolerable and fiery verse on 
 heroic subjects, talked clever criticism, was a humorous 
 satirist of political parties, dressed more or less aestheti- 
 cally, gave her afternoon receptions in rooms of a semi- 
 religious darkness, was a pleasant, cultured, odd, out-of- 
 the-common hostess ; and while some people laughed at 
 her, others admired her, many thought her exceedingly 
 clever, and most people liked to go to her receptions. 
 
 Philip was devotedly attached to his mother, but he 
 doubted the sincerity of certain men and women who, 
 while they upheld the rebel sentiments of the Green, man- 
 aged to make themselves very happy with the Red among 
 the fleshpots of London. But for himself he had no very 
 strong convictions either one way or the other, nor in fact 
 had his mother. He was deeply moved at all times by a 
 
94 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 tale of sorrow, and the more so if he could suggest it with 
 his brush. He was like a musician who dramatizes events 
 and emotions in musical rhapsodies, only thathe tried to 
 put them on canvas, and he confessed to Chetwynd that 
 the incidents of so-called Irish rebellion did not inspire 
 him with a single subject worth painting. On the other 
 hand, the struggle of Liberty with Tyranny in Russia 
 ennobled the cause of Freedom ; it made men heroes, it 
 made women divine. 
 
 How far these feelings and opinions were the outcome of 
 serious reflection or the evanescence of an artistic habit of 
 thought, influenced by a poetic temperament and fostered 
 by the conversations of Dick Chetwynd, must be left to 
 the judgment of the reader and the elucidation of events. 
 Not only had Philip heard his father speak of the shame- 
 less dishonesty of Russian officials, the barbarism of the 
 Russian law in the matter of political offences, in regard 
 to which the English law is so especially lenient, but he 
 imbibed from some of his mother's foreign visitors a des- 
 perate hatred of Russia. He knew by heart the story of 
 Poland, the disabilities of Russian serfdom freed only to 
 have to endure worse hardships than slavery ; he had 
 heard from their own lips some of the horrors endured by 
 political prisoners, though it was a perpetual wonder to 
 him how any of the refugees he had met could ever have 
 escaped Russian vigilance, without the talismanic assist- 
 ance of gold. 
 
 When he thought of the struggles of brave men for 
 constitutional rights in Russia, of their desperate plots, and 
 their fiendish punishments, he found no word of defence 
 against Chetwynd's impeachment of more than one of his 
 mother's Irish friends, who were enjoying all the freedom 
 oT the crowned Republic of England, living luxuriously in 
 her great metropolis, and still prating of her tyranny and 
 oppression, and who, the time being opportune, would be 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 95 
 
 ready to play the part of traitors to their friends and country. 
 All this seemed to him to heighten the despotism and 
 cruelty of the Russian system, and to confirm the right- 
 eousness of the Nihilistic fight against the Czar. But 
 Philip's was not a logical mind ; it was moved by impulse, 
 by instinct, it was emotional, artistic, sensitive, and it had 
 a fateful habit of thought and feeling, which qualities pos- 
 sibly may belong to the attributes of genius. At all events 
 Art has nothing to do with political principles, with the 
 philosophies of government, or with constitutional rights ; 
 it has to do with sentiment, love, nature, the affections, and 
 with the portrayal of noble actions and fine emotions, 
 with the reproduction of landscape on canvas, the illustra- 
 tion of great events, the glorification of virtue, heroism, 
 patriotism, but it has nothing to do with political debates, 
 with revolutionary action, with real fighting, with the for- 
 mulation of administrative principles ; it is the handmaiden, 
 not the soldier ; the rewarder of noble deeds and the en- 
 courager thereto. Such at all events was the idea of Art 
 which Chetwynd tried to convey to Philip Forsyth, whom 
 he loved with a sincere friendship. 
 
 As a political journalist Dick Chetwynd was not a 
 success j as a politician he was too honest to be anything 
 more or less than a failure. He believed that if the Par- 
 nellite faction were sincere in their desire to promote the 
 material interests of Ireland, the question at issue between 
 the two great parties in the State would have been settled 
 long ago. Not that he defended the Tory party in the 
 past any more than he approved of the Gladstonian Admin- 
 istration. It was his firm belief that on many an occasion 
 the Irish question was simply used on both sides as a 
 political shuttlecock, without the slightest reference to 
 what was best for Ireland, England, or the Empire. .At 
 the same time he despised the rank and file of the Irish 
 party; believed Parnell to be more or less the victim of 
 
^ BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 the thing he had created ; thought America had shame- 
 fully abused the privileges of blood and friendship in per- 
 mitting a gigantic conspiracy to be hatched and kept alive 
 on her free soil, to the detriment and danger of the mother 
 country ; thought Gladstone had only one desire in life, 
 and that to be in office ; regarded Hartington and Cham- 
 berlain as patriots of the noble type ; looked upon the 
 principle of hereditary legislatorship as a grand old tradi- 
 tional farce ; would to-morrow give Ireland such a measure 
 of local self-government, or Home Rule, or whatever it 
 might be called, as would enable her to conduct her own 
 internal business without reference to local committees at 
 Westminster ; was fully of opinion that the margin of per- 
 sonal and constitutional liberty in England was so wide 
 and deep that any person who stepped beyond its barrier 
 should be shot ; was at heart a Republican, but above all 
 things an Imperial Unionist, and would defend to the 
 death the merest scrap of soil over which the flag had ever 
 floated ; in this he was a Cowenite, as he said ; loyal to 
 the Crown as long as that remained our legitimate form of 
 government. He would go to war to-morrow for India 
 against Russia or all the world ; would fight France for 
 Egypt rather than revive the dual control ; would make 
 every possible sacrifice for the honor, prestige, and glory 
 of his native land ; and any Government, Radical or Con- 
 servative, that would continue to give us the security of 
 personal liberty and maintain the integrity of the Empire 
 would have his vote and interest. It need not be pointed 
 out to any practical politician that Dick could not be 
 successful on these lines, any more than Joseph Cowen, the 
 patriotic member for Newcastle, could. 
 
 Dick was a Yorkshireman, five-and-thirty, married, and 
 the father of a young family. He was of a medium height, 
 broad of shoulder, strong of limb, inclined to make adi- 
 pose tissue (as his doctor told him), the only antidote to 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 97 
 
 which was exercise, and Dick's exercise consisted chiefly 
 in walking up to Philip Forsyth's studio from his house in 
 Dorset-square. Dick was of fair complexion, wore his 
 beard broad and curly, had a massive forehead, grey eyes, 
 a rich unctious manner of speech, and was known rather 
 for his pluck and cleverness than for the solidity of his 
 character or the perspicuity of his political views, though 
 he was an established and independent journalist and 
 something more. As a descriptive writer and a war cor- 
 respondent he was a decided success. In other enter- 
 prises of later days he had not failed. His literary work 
 and his criticisms in the world of art were clearer, sharper, 
 and better defined than his political opinions, though in 
 his somewhat complicated politics he had before him the 
 encouragement of many melancholy examples. As a jour- 
 nalist on the warpath he had told the story of the Zulu 
 War, and had marched with Roberts through Afghanistan. 
 He had exploited the Irish revolt in the American cities, 
 had cabled the earliest declarations of the American-Irish 
 plotters from Mill-street, had written the first interview 
 with Rossa, and had reported one of the secret meetings of 
 the Dynamiters in New York. He had traveled through 
 Russia on a journaHstic mission, and had seen the world 
 under many and varying circumstances, having begun his 
 newspaper career at eighteen. 
 
 When we make Dick Chetwynd's acquaintance he had 
 settled down to the pleasant work of independent journalism 
 and the secretaryship of an Art Club, which had under his 
 excellent management become a monopoly of art-trading 
 in a quiet but profitable groove of what seemed dilettante- 
 ism, but which in reality was solid business. " The 
 Rossetti " was a club and gallery controlled by half a dozen 
 wealthy noblemen, who were guided by the discreet and 
 clever hand of Dick Chetwynd. It gave parties, held 
 exhibitions, published an Art Magazine, dealt in art 
 
 1 
 
98 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 treasures in a high and exclusive manner, and made a big 
 annual income, fifteen hundred pounds of which Chetwynd 
 enjoyed as a salary ; and he had perquisites, besides an 
 unique position in artist society. His wife was a bright, 
 buxom, clever woman of the world, a Londoner with all a 
 Londoner's prejudices, and they had a family of half a 
 dozen children, and lived in good style in Dorset-square, 
 where they had a music room and an art gallery at the 
 rent of two hundred a year, which in the more fashionable 
 regions of Kensington would have been worth five or six. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " And you think you interpret the subject in this sketch 
 of a company of prisoners on the way to Siberia ? " asked 
 Chetwynd, once more forcing the conversation in the 
 direction of Philip's work. 
 
 "Yes, I cannot imagine anything more tragic, can 
 you? " 
 
 " I could think of many subjects more poetically tragic," 
 said Chetwynd, *' but none which in your hands will make 
 a more remarkable picture." 
 
 *' An Irish eviction ? " said Philip, smiling, not sarcas- 
 tically, but recalling a discussion in which Chetwynd had 
 considered it necessary to dwell upon certain cruelties of 
 eviction in order to keep Philip up to what he considered 
 the right pitch of democratic sentiment — for Dick was 
 more Radical than Rebel, more Reformer than Republican; 
 and in all this he was one of the anomalies of English 
 political life in these days of political evolution and 
 change. 
 
 "No, not an eviction, Mr. Cynic," said Dick; "don't 
 think I am blind to the due proportions of things, and I 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 99 
 
 love art beyond politics. If I did not I should be engaged 
 at this moment in projecting an English Republic." 
 
 " I wonder your Rossetti nobility put up with you." 
 
 " They have to put up with me, old man ; besides we 
 don't talk politics, and (with a self-deprecatory smile) even 
 noblemen like to be associated with intellect, especially 
 when it pays." 
 
 " Yes, that is a great matter," Philip replied ; "it is the 
 rock upon which I shall split." 
 
 " Not at all," said Chetwynd ; " it is the artist's business 
 to think of his art, and to leave the question of paying to 
 Fate." 
 
 '' And yet I fancy you were thinking just now that I 
 should have a much better chance of the medal with a con- 
 "vjentional treatment of tragedy than with a realistic study 
 of the tragedy side of Russian tyranny and Russian hero- 
 ism. Sometimes in one's hatred of Russia one is apt to 
 forget that the tyranny and heroism go hand in hand ; that 
 they come from the same people." 
 
 ** It is generous to think so ; you do not regard Ireland 
 as the Poland of our day, and I don't ask you to think of 
 it in that light, though it is an oppressed nationality, and I 
 have faith in my fellow countrymen when I find so many 
 of us acknowledging our misdeeds." 
 
 ** But if we are to go back to the past for misdeeds it 
 seems to me that the English themselves have had a hard 
 time of it, not to mention the Scotch and the Welsh. But 
 of course all this is nonsense, the Irish troubles are to be 
 mended as the disabilities of the masses have been amend- 
 ed ; but if there is the tyranny in Ireland, the abuse of 
 Irishmen, some of my fellow bogtrotters aver, let them rise 
 and be free ! That is what other nationalities have done ; 
 and if they have the cause let them fight ! " 
 
 " We were talking of Art, and the interpretation of Tra- 
 gedy," said Dick ; " you are no politician, and you are so 
 
loo BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 pleased with your life in London that your gratitude to us 
 brutal Saxons overcomes your judgment. I think you 
 would have a better chance of the medal if you took a 
 classic subject from Roman History. Moreover, it would 
 give you an opportunity of showing your skill as a student 
 of the figure. Siberia gives you no chance of a careful 
 study of the nude or the semi-nude." 
 
 '• No, but it gives me composition, color, sentiment, feel- 
 ing, intensity of expression." 
 
 "If it engages your enthusiasm," said Dick, *' do it, 
 Philip ! Never mind whether you get the medal or not. 
 Success at the Academy is a good deal of a lottery, and a 
 medal won by pandering to Academic methods of faddism 
 is not worth having." 
 
 " Thank you, old fellow," said Philip ; " you are to me 
 as great a stimulus as success itself. Have a drink, and I 
 will tell you about that woman you see in the foreground 
 looking defiance at the brutal Cossack." 
 
 It was one of the first days of the early spring. A few 
 flakes of snow were flying about in the sunshine, looking 
 like scattered cherry blossoms. Philip called Dick's atten- 
 tion to them as he drew down a blind to keep out the 
 sudden sunshine that sent a white beam right across his 
 picture. 
 
 " Let us welcome the Spring," said Philip, going to a 
 cabinet and producing a bottle of champagne. " You have 
 had luncheon? " 
 
 " Yes. You are a luxurious dog, Philip." 
 
 " No. I sometimes don't drink a glass of wine for days 
 together, not even at dinner. This is a brand you will 
 approve of ; it is like the English Spring, a flash of liquid 
 sunshine." 
 
 '* Here's success to * Tragedy ! ' " said Dick, taking up 
 the glass his host had filled. 
 
 **And here's to Spring!" said Philip. "The loveliest 
 
SV ORDER OF THE CZAR, loi 
 
 season of all the English year; ^}it>ttivei'' cynics- may say 
 about it!" '. , > - w^.^, ;-. ;, : * :.. 
 
 **As champagne is the fin^st^'^t)!^ .all ^wrn<is*/'''S'aia 'Dick, 
 "and this is more than superb; Philip Forsyth, I repeat 
 you are an extravagant dog ! " 
 
 ''And I reply I am none, as the prisoner said to Dog- 
 berry. But if I were, I am spending my own money, and 
 I have no false pride. I make it a rule never to let a week 
 pass without its pot-boiler." 
 
 This was quite true, and it was another contradiction 
 of the ordinary interpretation of genius, if Philip really 
 was a genius. The young fellow did not believe in draw- 
 ing all his supplies from his mother; if he dreamed he 
 worked. There was none of the careless, indifferent 
 impecuniosity that people associate with genius in this 
 young artist's disposition. He not only made a sufficient 
 income to supply his modest or luxurious desires, but also 
 to enable him to contribute occasionally an article oivertu 
 to his mother's rooms in Adelphi Terrace, the most 
 picturesque and inspiriting situation, he contended, in all 
 London. But his pot-boilers were not mere convention- 
 alities. They were bits of color, impressions, fancies, 
 replicas of studies, musings in tone, and trifles of various 
 kinds — which cost him neither trouble nor labor, and of 
 which he thought nothing — for his ambition, if he had an 
 ambition, was heroic — it soared, but it was emotional, and 
 required an object. 
 
 " About that woman : last week at the opera I saw a 
 face that I shall never forget. It was partially hidden by 
 the box curtains which draped it, the neck being in shadow^ 
 the remainder of the figure hidden. It was a woman of 
 thirty, I should say, with the suffering of a century in her 
 eyes ; suffering and a consuming passion ; the pallid face 
 one sees in prisoners who have been long in confinement, 
 but without the sad resignation that mostly accompanies it. 
 
102 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 The featuHs wer^'GJrc^ifin .in their regularity, but with the 
 capa'ci>;y for passion thrown in as an artistic contradiction ; 
 a straight nose, but a' low, -square forehead; a perfect 
 mouth in form, but the curves tending to cruelty ; the face 
 long, the expression suggesting the lofty scorn, the high 
 sense of duty of a Marie Antoinette, with the determina- 
 tion and murderous fire of a Charlotte Corday. Clytem- 
 nestra and Diana in one ; a something lovable and lovely 
 with homicidal tendencies ; an indescribable creature, 
 whose face I have tried to suggest in that sketch, and 
 whose story might well be the history I want to convey in 
 my competition for the medal ! Do you know the story of 
 Madame Lapukin, in the days of Elizabeth of Russia?" 
 " No," said Chetwynd, watching the play of Philip's 
 mobile features, as the enthusiast endeavored to convey to 
 him an idea of the woman whom he hoped to make live 
 again on canvas, wondering at the same time where he 
 would get his model if he could not find the woman of the 
 opera and induce her to sit for him. 
 
 " One Germaiii de Lagny tells the story, in his account 
 of Russia, translated by John Bridgman and published by 
 Bogue. In 1760, Madame Lapukin, a rare beauty, the envy 
 of the Czarina, said to have betrayed the secret oC the 
 Empress' liaison with Prince Razoumowsky, was con- 
 demned, in spite of the privilege of the nobility never to 
 suffer the punishment of the knout, to be publicly whipped 
 and her tongue torn from the roots ! Think of it. This 
 lovely woman, who had been feted and caressed by society, 
 the beauty of a luxurious court ! She was stripped, sub- 
 mitted to other indignities, and her flesh cut into strips from 
 her shoulders to her hips. Her tongue was torn out, and 
 then with a refinement of cruelty which is carried out to 
 this day she was sent into hospital, and cured of her wounds 
 sufficiently to enable her to be marched to Siberia. She 
 did not die by the way, but lived to be recalled by Peter 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. I03 
 
 the Third, in 1762. When I saw that face at the opera I 
 said to myself, it might have been the face of Madame 
 Lapukin, waiting for an opportunity of vengeance, and 
 when the Academy announced their subject I thought of 
 tliat terrible tragedy, and I saw the woman ministering to 
 the dying on the road to Siberia, praying for death as she 
 must have done, and seeing more fortunate ones stumble 
 and fall, to be left in the wind and the snow, that was not 
 so cold and bleak as man's inhumanity. I saw her moved 
 by the tender impulse of her sex in the midst of her own 
 suffering to lay a gentle hand upon the shrinking arm of 
 her fellow prisoner, and followed by the Cossack's rough 
 interposition, and then I saw that look ofhate, of unavenged 
 grief, of tiger-like defiance that fascinated me in the face 
 draped by the opera curtains. Around this incident grew 
 at once all the rest, and I have written right across it in 
 my mind's eye, * Tragedy.' " 
 
 " You are a brave, wonderful fellow," said Dick, rising 
 and taking him by the hand ; '* if you were not a painter 
 ' to have this outcome for your feelings, or a poet to put 
 them into print, you would be a Nihilist, and possibly a 
 victim to some mad plot to overtake the future by blowing 
 up the Winter Palace and shouting ' victory ' as you fell 
 under the crashing timbers." 
 
 " Do you think so ? " he said, with a sad smile, the color 
 returning to his face, which had become as pale as the 
 imaginary Lapukin's, while he was telling the woman's 
 story. 
 
 ''I do ; but this saves you," pointing to the sketch ; 
 " and it is a greater power than dynamite, a bigger 
 reformer than the knife or the revolver. Put your heroism 
 into your pictures, Philip, and I will forgive you for not 
 being a politician." 
 
 "■ That's all right," said Philip ; '' anyhow we shall always 
 be friends, and if I can satisfy your critical opinion I shall 
 be content to lose the medal." 
 
104 ^y ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 '' In the meantime," said Dick, smiling, '* we must find 
 that woman who combines the beauties and terrors of the 
 tiger and the gazelle." 
 
 '* Ah, if we only could I " exclaimed Philip. 
 
 *' If we only could," said Dick ; '* is she then only a 
 dream ? " 
 
 " In my sketch, yes ; but at the opera she was flesh and 
 blood." 
 
 '' And did you not try to find out who she is ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 '*0n the night?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And since ? " 
 
 " Yes : she has vanished without leaving a trace." 
 
 *•' How do you know that she has disappeared so com- 
 pletely ? " 
 
 '' I will tell you." 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 TWO MERRY SISTERS. 
 
 '' It was the opera of Carmen, said Philip : " a favorite 
 opera of mine, because it seems to me to be a consistent 
 and possible story, the music and words deftly wedded, 
 the chorus people coming in naturally, as part of the story 
 and not merely to sing. Indeed, it is the only opera in which 
 one's imagination does not seem to be especially or remark- 
 ably handicapped, when at a tragic moment the hero begins 
 to sing, and when the heroine, being stabbed to the heart, 
 or dying of poison, does not also burst out into a wonder- 
 ful effort of vocalization." 
 
 " Oh, you demand realism in opera, do you ? And yet 
 I hear you prefer a light melodramatic work, such as 
 Carmen, to the great Wagnerian dramas." 
 
BV ORDER OF THE €ZAR. 10$ 
 
 " Bui i don't make any sweeping criticism for or against 
 any opc/a or any composer," Philip replied. " Carmen 
 always appealed to me somehow for its utter naturalness : 
 I may be wrong, I dare say I am. Well, it was at the 
 scene where Michavel tries to persuade the soldier lover 
 to go home — the scene with the banditti in the mountains, 
 you know — when I was suddenly conscious of a new pres- 
 ence in the house, not upon the stage, but in the theatre. 
 I had glanced aside for a moment, and in the box imme- 
 diately opposite — Lady Marchmounfs box, in fact — I saw 
 a face partially hidden among the curtains, pale, earnest, 
 with great bright eyes, and a halo of dark red hair; the 
 lips were parted, the face all eager and wonderfully beautiful, 
 and it seemed to me as if the eloquent eyes fell upon 
 mine. I was fascinated ; as I gazed the face gradually 
 withdrew into the shadow of the box. When the act 
 was at an end I visited Lady Marchmount. While I 
 shook hands with her ladyship, I looked round her box. 
 ' You expected Lord Marchmount ? ' she said. ' He is 
 obliged to be at the House ; but I think he will come 
 before the end of the last act. My girls are with their 
 aunt ; I am quite alone. Will you 'not sit ? ' I thought 
 she seemed to be talking and explaining why she was 
 alone for the sake of putting me off my inquiry as to the 
 lady who was in the box during the bandit scene ; I don't 
 know what made me think so. * But the lady,' I said, 
 * who was here a few minutes since ? ' ' What lady ? ' she 
 asked. * She was at the back of the box,' I said. ' I have 
 had no visitor that I am aware of, except yourself 'I 
 beg your pardon, perhaps it was in the next box ; I am 
 sure you will forgive my curiosity, Lady Marchmount, but 
 it was a very remarkable and beautiful face, and it went 
 straight home to my imagination as the very face I want 
 for a picture I am going to paint.' ' That is a convenient 
 excuse you artists make for introductions to pretty women, 
 
to$ BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 but I have had no lady in my box to-night. If, however, 
 you are in search of beauty, what say you to Madame 
 Petronovitch ? ' She indicated the royal box with her fan, 
 and handed me her glass. 
 
 ** I looked over the way and saw a handsome foreign- 
 looking woman, chatting with a distinctly Russian officer ; 
 both animated, the lady evidently happy, the officer some- 
 what constrained in his manner, and with, as I thought, 
 a cruel mouth, and a cold resolute eye. ' General Petrono- 
 vitch,' said Lady Marchmount, ' the famous Russian 
 diplomat and soldier making a tour of Europe by way of 
 honeymoon, coupled with official business ; is to honor 
 the Italian Court during the coming festivities at Venice ; 
 a compliment to Italy which troubles France and does 
 not delight Germany. Lord Marchmount was to have 
 come to bring the General to my box, and no doubt will. 
 Won't you stay? ' * Thank you. Lady Marchmount,' I said, 
 *I have a friend who is a stranger to the town,' which was 
 true ; a young fellow to whom my mother was anxious I 
 should pay attention. So I left the box, and made a 
 survey of the house from various points, but my mysterious 
 and beautiful vision was nowhere to be seen." 
 
 " It was not a vision after all, eh ? not a dream face, 
 incident and all ? " 
 
 *' No, it was a reality, and I cannot help thinking Lady 
 Marchmount had some reason for saying she had no other 
 visitor except myself." 
 
 " But surely she would not have told a deliberate lie 
 about it ? " 
 
 ** She might have done so with a reservation." 
 
 " But why ? " 
 
 ** Ah, there you bring me to a dead stop." 
 
 ** Would it have been possible for the lady to have gone 
 into the box and Lady Marchmount not have seen her?" 
 
 " Yes, if the door had been left open, and Lady March- 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 107 
 
 mount had been deeply interested in the play ; but she 
 was not. Her interest was in the Russian party in the 
 Royal box." 
 
 " Was the stranger long in the box?" 
 
 *' About as long as it took me to tell you of her." 
 
 " She was very much in earnest, you say ; was she deeply 
 interested in the opera? " 
 
 " On reflection it seems to me she must have been 
 directing her gaze upon tjie Russian box ; and yet also I 
 fancied she looked at me as well. But the incident was 
 brief, and what struck me was the wonderful, sad, tragic 
 beauty of the face." 
 
 " Madame Lapukin's ghost, Phil ! " 
 
 *' No ghost," said the artist, his eyes upon the face he 
 had drawn. 
 
 *' Then we will find her. You have all one requires," 
 pointing to the picture, " to assist an independent search. 
 '• Wanted, a mysterious lady, last seen at the opera of 
 Carmen in Lady Marchmount's box, half hidden in the 
 curtains, reminded an enthusiastic artist of ' " 
 
 "Don't scoff, Dick," said Philip; ''you have no idea 
 how serious I feel about that face." 
 
 " Of course you do. One only wants the assurance of 
 your canvas to know that. But what other steps, if any, 
 have you taken to find madame ? " 
 
 " I have been to the opera every night since, m and out, 
 making calls; I went into Milbanke's box. Then another 
 night took my mother; another went into the stalls. I 
 strolled into the Row, cold as it .is, and I have called upon 
 Lady Marchmount." 
 
 " And no clue ? " 
 
 " Not the slightest." 
 
 " What does Dolly — Miss Norcott — say to it?" 
 ■''To what?" 
 
 " To your search for the mysterious beauty ? " 
 
 " I have not mentioned the subject to her." 
 
io8 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 " But I thought a young fellow mentioned pretty well 
 everything to his fiancee." 
 
 " Dolly is not my fiancee," said the artist. 
 
 " Is it all off, then ? " 
 
 " It was never all on." 
 
 " Oh, indeed ; excuse me, I thought from what your 
 mother said the other night it was settled, and that you 
 were going with the Milbankes to Venice." 
 
 " I am thinking of going to Venice." 
 
 " And taking a studio there for a month or two ? " 
 
 ''Yes." 
 
 '' Convenient to have Dolly and her very amiable sister 
 there at the same time ; save you from ennui, and enable 
 you to forget that woman's face." 
 
 " I shall never forget it." 
 
 " Nor will the public," said Dick, " if you finish your 
 picture as you have begun it. I don't want to surprise 
 your secret, but Miss Norcott is a very bright, charming, 
 and desirable young woman." 
 
 Philip's reply was interrupted by a triple knock at the 
 door, followed by a merry, musical voice which asked, 
 " Is anything dreadful going on ? May we come in ? " 
 
 ''That is Dolly," said Philip. 
 
 " Sounded to me like Mrs. Milbanke," said Dick. 
 
 " She said ' we,' " observed Philip, going to the door, 
 " and that ' we ' means Dolly and her sister, Jenny." 
 
 " Of course you may," said the artist, leading in a pretty 
 fashionable girl of a little over twenty." 
 
 " Jenny is with me — she stayed to speak to the porter's 
 wife. Here she is ; come in, Jenny, there is nothing 
 dreadful going on, only Mr. Chetwynd," said the young 
 lady, in a pleasant voice. " Oh yes, there is," she con- 
 tinued, all in the same breath, and looking straight at 
 Philip's sketch. " What a miserable lot ! But how clever ! 
 Is this yours, Mr. Forsyth ? " 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 109 
 
 " Yes, I think so," said Philip, his manner somewhat 
 constrained as compared with his frank conversation with 
 Dick Chetwynd. 
 
 " One of Forsyth's dreams," said Chetwynd, at the same 
 time greeting Dolly's sister, Mrs. Milbanke. 
 
 "What a queer dream," went on Dolly, " but Mr. 
 Forsyth has ugly dreams." 
 
 " Not always," said Dick, smiling in his bland, calm 
 way. *' Yoti are looking charming this morning." 
 
 " Oh, I am not one of Mr. _ Forsyth's dreams ; I am a 
 very sober reality. Am I not, Mr. Philip Forsyth ? " 
 
 Here 5he turned her merry eyes upon Philip, and was 
 the very antithesis of the woman in the picture. Dolly 
 was beaming with good health, a pretty blonde, with a 
 dainty figure j very modern, an artist would say, and so 
 she was in dress, style and manner j a tennis player, a flirt, 
 and yet at heart a good-natured pleasant London girl. And 
 she was London, every inch of her, with all the London 
 chic and audacity ; fearless in her pleasant ignorance of 
 art and all its branches, except the art of dress and the art 
 of small talk ; she would talk on anything, art or what not 
 — the musical glasses or the music of the spheres ; she 
 laughed at her own ignorance when it became too apparent, 
 but she could waltz divinely, sing snatches of all the mo- 
 dern operas, comic and otherwise, play bits of Wagner, 
 Chopin, Mendelssohn, Sullivan ; never finished anything, 
 however, and was altogether a pretty, dainty, amusing, 
 light-hearted London girl. And her sister, Jenny, was a 
 great deal like her, only a little more staid in manner and 
 conversation, she being married and Dolly only on the eve 
 of being engaged. They were of medium height, both of 
 them, the one a little prettier than the other, both merry, 
 both touched with the Society mania of knowing the 
 " smartest people, don't you know ? " both flirts, both 
 genial, pleasant and good women. Once in a way some 
 
no BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 conceited person of the opposite sex would mistake their 
 free and unconstrained manners, and trespass by sugges- 
 tion or remark upon what ihey considered their good 
 nature, and then it would be revealed to him and sundry 
 that Dolly and her sister '* stood no nonsense," to use a 
 favorite phrase of Mr. Samuel Swynford, an admirer of both 
 the sisters and especially of Dolly, for whom it was gener- 
 ally known he cherished a more or less secret passion. 
 " They both like a bit of fun," said Sam to a friend, who 
 had heard of a snub Mrs. Milbanke had administered to a 
 certain noble lord, '' but they know just how far to go, and 
 any fool who is not equally well informed comes a cropper, 
 I can tell you, if he presumes upon their good nature. It's 
 like a bear transaction against a strong syndicate. I knew 
 a fellow who did a big bear on Nitrates just as the rise 
 began ; he did not know how the north wind was blowing 
 any more than did your noble lord when he ventured to 
 discount the high, unblemished and beautifully moral char- 
 acters of Dolly Norcott and her sister Jenny." 
 
 They were daintily dressed, the two merry sisters. Dolly 
 might have been called a harmony in pink ; for if her cloak 
 was of dark plush, the lining was of soft pink silk, and her 
 hat was of some indescribably pinky salmon color, in tone 
 and sympathy therewith. Jenny, her sister, was dark, not 
 a brunette, but her hair was a very deep brown, her eyes 
 hazel, her complexion what Disraeli would have called 
 rich, and while there was a strong family likeness to her 
 sister, she was not as pretty as Dolly ; nor had she the 
 freshness of youth, that was Dolly's precious possession 
 both in fact and in appearance. Dolly was twenty-three, 
 Jenny was thirty. Jenny wore a plush cloak of a dead 
 gold color, and, unbuttoning it, disclosed a lovely dress of 
 ruby silk. She wore a plush hat to match her cloak, tall and 
 stately with nodding decorations, such as gentlemen find 
 very awkward at theatrical matinees, and against which 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, III 
 
 one of the free and independent States of America is about 
 to pass a law. Before it comes into force it is to be hoped 
 the fashion of exaggerated hats will have changed, though 
 it must be admitted that the prevailing fashions are not 
 unpicturesque. Dolly Norcott and Mrs. Milbanke might 
 have been presented to the most querulous American critic 
 of tall hats as very pleasant arguments in their favor^ and 
 one would not object to have had the two ladies put into 
 competition with any two American beauties of their age, 
 or indeed in competition with any two sisters of any other 
 country, though of late years America has claimed the 
 palm, and many Englishmen seem to have conceded to 
 them the claim for feminine beauty over the old country 
 and every other. 
 
 But no woman in all the world grows old as gracefully 
 or beautifully as an Englishwoman ! There is Lady 
 Marchmount, for instance. She is nearly sixty ; she looks 
 forty, has the voice of thirty, the manners of a matron, the 
 heart of a girl ; there is not a wrinkle in her face, nor a 
 white hair in her head. And yet she does not, as do many 
 American ladies of her age, dress as if she were twenty ; 
 she accepts the fact of her age, assumes the role of a matron 
 who is a grandmother, and preserves, as she will to her 
 last days, a charm of manner and a womanly grace, which 
 is exceptionally the inheritance of Englishwomen. 
 
 " Don't go on our account, Mr. Chetwynd," said Mrs. 
 Milbanke ; " we only called because we were passing, and 
 Dolly wondered what Mr. Forsyth was doing. We have 
 been calling on Lady Marchmount." 
 
 " Many people there ? " asked Philip. 
 
 ** No, twenty or thirty," said Dolly. '" The usual set : 
 members of Parliament's wives, a prima donna engaged to 
 sing, a thought reader, and several persons from the Italian 
 Embassy." 
 
 *' Many ladies ? " asked Philip, his mind running on the 
 woman of the opera. 
 
112 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 "Why, I told you," said Dolly, '' the same old set; are 
 you still dreaming ? There was a very pleasant man who 
 knows Venice well; he says v/e ought to stay there at least 
 two months — that for his part he could live there for ever, 
 and Jenny told him you are going to have a studio there 
 and paint, at which he was deeply interested." 
 
 '' Oh, here you are," said Mrs. Milbanke, as the porter's 
 wife entered with tea. '* I ventured to ask for some tea, 
 Mr. Forsyth," said Mrs. Milbanke. '' I always think it is 
 so delightful, tea in a studio ; and especially when there is 
 no fuss and the men can go on smoking. * Liberty Hall,' 
 as Mr. Samuel Swynford says." 
 
 '* Just so," said Chetwynd. '' Has Mr. Swynford made 
 a fortune yet ? " 
 
 " I am sure I don't know. He was very mysterious the 
 other night with Walter about same Transvaal mines that 
 are a certainty. I don't quite know whether he is a bull 
 or a bear, but he says they will go up to ten premium, and 
 that when they do he is going to have a holiday. He has 
 let Walter have a few shares." 
 
 " Which I fear will settle poor Sam's prospects," chimed 
 in Dolly, " as Walter told him ; for if there is an unlucky 
 fellow in the world, it is Walter." 
 
 '• He does not think so," said Chetwynd ; " at all events 
 he does not look it when he is out with his wife and sis- 
 ter." 
 
 **Ah, he is a dear fellow — Walter," remarked Dolly, 
 sipping her tea, and suddenly remarking to Philip, " Won't 
 you make me a cigarette ? I might take one whiff, eh ? 
 There was a Russian woman at Lady Marchmount's who 
 smoked a cigarette, much to everybody's surprise ; it is 
 true she only smoked it in the hall when she was leaving. 
 They say cigarette smoking grows on one like dram-drink- 
 ing ; your mother. Lady Forsyth, allows it at her Sunday 
 evenings, Mr. Philip ? " 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, II3 
 
 " Yes," Philip replied, " she allows many things which I 
 don't think I should permit." 
 
 ^' Walter won't let us smoke," said Mrs. Milbanke ; 
 " not that we want to, but he won't have it at all, although 
 he himself smokes from morning till night." 
 
 '' Walter is very funny about his smoking," said Dolly ; 
 " he says it is a good thing for the house, and a good thing 
 for him, but a bad thing for women — taints their breath, 
 makes them mannish, which he hates. But you have got 
 a rather mannish woman in your picture, Mr. Forsyth." 
 
 " Do you think so ? " 
 
 *' Yes, but I suppose she is intended to be tragic, eh ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I thought so ; the young man is dying of cold and 
 weariness, and she wants to help him, and that Cossack 
 soldier won't let her. What a look she gives him ! It 
 will be a fine picture." 
 
 '* Do you think so ? " exclaimed Philip, with a smile of 
 satisfaction. '^ Dick is pleased with it." 
 
 "Then it must be good," remarked Jenny, 'Mf Mr. 
 Chetwynd thinks so, and is not afraid to put his thoughts 
 into words." 
 
 " Indeed, you seem to know me, Mrs. Milbanke. What 
 a pleasant thing it is to have a character that every one 
 can read like a book — to wear one's heart upon one's sleeve, 
 as Shakspere has it." 
 
 " For daws to peck at, eh ? Then I'm a daw, Mr. Chet- 
 wynd, thank you. You didn't think I knew my Shakspere, 
 I suppose. Come, Dolly, now we must go. I have scored 
 off Mr. Chetwynd, and I will not stay a minute longer." 
 
 ''That is so like Jenny," Dolly remarks to Philip; 
 " whenever she wins anything she leaves off. Some people 
 lay down their cards or their bat or leave the tables when 
 they lose, Jenny always leaves when she wins." 
 
 " Except that once, Dolly, at Monte Carlo ; do you 
 
 8 
 
114 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 remember? Don't think I gamble, Mr. Chetwynd, but at 
 Rome do as the Romans do. We were at Monte Carlo 
 last winter with Walter, and, of course, we went to the 
 tables. I know nothing about Faro and that kind of thing, 
 I simply backed the red — it was the day before we left — it 
 came up five times, five times ten pounds, and then I put 
 all the fifty on ; it came up again, and then I would leave. 
 Don't you think I was wise ? " 
 
 ''You are always wise, and always delightful," said 
 Dick. 
 
 " Come along, Dolly. Good-bye, Mr. Forsyth. I know 
 Mr. Chetwynd is going to say something sharp and cutting ; 
 I won't hear it. Come along, Dolly ; I can hear the car- 
 riage on the gravel. I told him to come for us in a quarter 
 of an hour. Au revoir, Mr. Forsyth j you are coming to 
 dinner." 
 
 " To talk over Italy, and especially Venice," said Dolly, 
 turning the battery of her eyes upon Philip. And what 
 lovely eyes they were, blue as an Italian sky, her lips as 
 red as its coral, and her whole figure, appearance, manner, 
 voice, the warm pressure of her hand, radiating health and 
 sensuous good nature. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE MILBANKES AT HOME. 
 
 ** By Jove, you are to be envied," exclaimed Dick when 
 the two women had left ; " as fine a woman as the most 
 fastidious Sybarite with a love of life and domestic happi- 
 ness could desire. Just the kind of girl for you ; not too 
 learned, no dreams, enough appreciation of art to give yau 
 a frank and useful opinion — the outside opinion, the opinion 
 of the public ; no sulks, no mad passion, plenty of common 
 sense, good spirits, a nice little fortune, would entertain 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, II5 
 
 your guests right merrily. I think your mother is very 
 wise to encourage the match. And the right sort of family 
 to go into. Walter Milbanke is as good a fellow as there 
 is going ; got a snug conveyancing practice left by his 
 father. His mother is rich. Dolly's people are in good 
 society and well off, and Mrs. Milbanke is one of the most 
 charming and agreeable of hosts. Why don't you settle it 
 all, Phil? You are the sort of young fellow who should 
 get married. You want sympathy, and you want a com- 
 fortable and well-managed home." 
 
 " She is a delightful girl, Dolly — as you say, Dick, very 
 pretty. I am sure she is generous, in spite of that sugges- 
 tion of worldliness that comes out in her conversation. But 
 she is not like that with me. I think it is part of the cur- 
 rent coin of Society ; but I hate Society." 
 
 *' No, you don't, old chap ; you hate what people call 
 Society, but you like what we call Society, what your mother 
 calls Society, what my wife calls Society ; you enjoy that, 
 and you can make your own set. When you marry Dolly, 
 you can interpret your own idea of Society, and translate 
 it as you please. Come, old fellow, don't brood over the 
 gold medal ; don't think too much of the model you want 
 for the forlorn woman in the foreground. We will find 
 her, or another as good. Come up into the East End one 
 day (your tragic heroine has a Jewish cast of countenance), 
 I will take you to a Jewish quarter where you will find 
 several Polish faces that might sit for your Siberian pic- 
 ture." 
 
 "The despair would be there, perhaps," said Philip, 
 '^ but not the beauty, not the dignity, not the strength, not 
 the threat of vengeance in the eyes, not the deep strange 
 reminiscence of suffering I saw in the mouth, and in the 
 clenched, bony, but refined fingers ; no, that is a face I 
 should say one is likely to see once in a lifetime." 
 
 Let us follow Mrs, Milbanke and her sister home. 
 
Il6 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 Dolly Norcott lives with her parents at Norwood, but 
 spends most of her time at Westbury Lodge, St. John's 
 Wood Road. They call it Westbury Lodge because Walter 
 Milbanke has an estate at Westbury, near Bristol, and 
 there is a little territorial vanity in this association of 
 name. It is a picturesque, two-storey house, fenced in, 
 and looking the daintier for the fencing when the front 
 gate is open and you get a glimpse of a long grass-covered 
 path, at the end of which there is a tesselated hall, and 
 beyond a back garden, with tennis nets and flowers. 
 
 Westbury Lodge is by no means palatial, but it is 
 sufficient for the wants of the Milbankes, Walter often 
 declaring that if he were worth twenty thousand a year he 
 would not want a larger house, nor would he desire to live 
 one jot more ostentatiously than at present ; though his 
 wife ventures to remark that she hopes if ever he has 
 twenty thousand a year he will go into Parliament, and 
 work his way into the Cabinet as So-and-So has done, and 
 as So-and-so means to do. 
 
 Walter meets his wife and sister in the hall, kisses them 
 both, asks where they have been, what the news is, and 
 tells them he has only just come from the office; hopes 
 dinner will not be late — he has asked Sam Swynford to join 
 them. Jenny says she thinks that unfortunate, and asks 
 if he has forgotten that Philip P'orsyth is coming, and that 
 the occasion is the talking over the Venice trip. No, 
 Walter says he has not forgotten ; and the fact is, he says> 
 he does not choose to have this fast and loose business of 
 Mr. Philip Forsyth, and he is not sure that Sam Swynford 
 would not be a much better match. Anyhow he regards 
 it as a good idea to bring the two young fellows together 
 as much as possible, that Dolly may make up her mind, or 
 that the two young fellows may kill each other or do some- 
 thing. For his part he does not intend this affair to go on ; 
 if Philip accompanies them to Italy, why, of course, that 
 may be said to settle the question. 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 117 
 
 " But he would go, Wally dear, whether we go or not. 
 He has taken a studio there, or intends to do so." 
 
 *' He expressed no intention of the kind until he knew 
 we were going there." 
 
 " That is true," the wife replied. 
 
 " And his mother has twice spoken to rne about Dolly, 
 and expressed a hope that she and Forsyth would make a 
 match of it at once. * How happy could I be with either,' 
 eh ? " continued Walter, putting one arm round Dolly and 
 another round his wife, and leading them into the drawi ng 
 room. "That's your sentiment, eh, Dolly?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know, Wally. I think I like Philip best. 
 He is romantic and interesting ; far more distinguished in 
 appearance than Sam ; and is likely to make a name and a 
 great position." 
 
 '* When you will have to do all the worshipping," said 
 Walter. *' These artistic geniuses, these men of distinction 
 — authors, painters, artists, actors — they don't make good 
 husbands as a rule ; they have whims and humors — moods, 
 I believe they call them ; the more successful they are the 
 more dreamy and exacting. Society spoils them." 
 
 *' But I am bound to say Philip puts on no airs," Dolly 
 replied ; " he is very modest, considering how clever he is." 
 
 '* Oh, yes, no doubt ; but when success comes then 
 comes hero-worship and all that sort of thing. For show, 
 I daresay Forsyth would make the best husband ; a fine, 
 handsome, young man to sit by your side at the opera, to 
 drive in the park with, if he had ever time to drive in the 
 park, and for other women to envy and try to get him away 
 from you. But for a good, honest, devoted, useful, and 
 wealthy husband — and I say wealthy advisedly, he knows 
 what he is about — I would back Sam Swynford. You could 
 have your own way with him, just as Jenny has with me." 
 This Walter said with an audible chuckle, adding, " Sam 
 is by no means the fool some people affect to think him ; 
 
ii8 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 I know that he made ten thousand pounds last week in 
 Primitivas — bought them at seventy and held on like grim 
 death till they went up to two hundred and twenty. 
 Think of the courage of a stroke like that, and the know- 
 ledge ; there is not a cooler head nor a softer heart on the 
 whole Exchange. And now, my dears, as you are in full 
 possession of my views, I vote you go and dress for dinner 
 and act accordingly." 
 
 They dressed together, the two sisters. Never were two 
 young women more devoted to each other. Dolly was as 
 proud of Jenny's clever domestic abilities as Jenny was 
 of Dolly's beauty. Jenny admired Dolly's singing beyond 
 even tlie vocalization of Patti. Dolly thought Jenny the 
 most charming of conversationalists. There were two 
 couches in the room to which Walter had dismissed them 
 for the mysterious ceremony of dressing. The lounges 
 were speedily occupied by the two ladies, in dressing 
 gowns and slippers, attended by a clever French maid, 
 who brought them tea in two tiny pots and then left them 
 to decide what they would wear on this momentous 
 occasion, for on this night Dolly was expected to bring 
 Philip Forsyth to book, or make up her mind to accept 
 Sam Swynford ; not that Sam had proposed, but it was 
 believed that he would do so on the slightest provocation. 
 
 " You ought to be a very happy girl," said Jenny. 
 ^' How happy could you be with either." 
 
 *' How did you ever make up your mind to marry 
 Walter? " Dolly asked in a half drowsy kind of way. 
 
 " Easily enough ; he was a good fellow, not a bit jealous, 
 had a good, sound, settled income, and loved me to distrac- 
 tion, as he does now." 
 
 *' Yes," said Dolly, *' but you had lots of offers, mother 
 says." 
 
 "Well, I don't know ; I might have had, but the fact is 
 I hadn't any more than you have, Dolly, dear." 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR, 119 
 
 " But could have, Jenny, could have, only that spoils 
 the fun. Best to lead them on a little and stop short of 
 that, eh ? You said so, you know, when I came out." 
 " And was not the advice good ? " 
 " Yes, I think so." 
 
 " Well, I declare, Dolly, you are going to sleep." 
 '* I am very tired ; only forty winks. Is there time? " 
 " Plenty, my darling," and as Jenny said so Dolly buried 
 her face in the great sofa cushions, and composed herself 
 to enjoy her siesta. "Don't trouble about thinking of 
 waking, I will call you in time," added Jenny, taking up 
 one of the latest French novels, which she had smuggled 
 into Westbury Lodge without Walter's knowledge, for 
 Walter had vowed many a time that he would no more 
 think of having an objectionable, fast, immoral book in his 
 house, than he would think of inviting a bad lot to dinner. 
 But what was the good of being able to read French with 
 facility, coupled with possessing a taste for racy fiction^ 
 without going to the fountain head for it ? Not that Jenny 
 understood half that was insinuated or set forth in the 
 direction Walter denounced, and she hated to have any- 
 thing like a scene with the dear fellow ; so she deceived 
 him a little, *'not in any serious way, don't you know?'' 
 as she explained to Dolly, but just to protect both Walter 
 and herself from scenes. In the same way she occasionally 
 permitted what Society butterflies termed tributes to her 
 beauty, in the way of a little flirtation, which she did not 
 mention to Walter because she did not want him to be 
 " punching men's heads or calling them out, don't you 
 know ? " She had with these little shortcomings of Eve 
 all the other good qualities, and the historian is not disposed 
 to quarrel with her, the more so that she always strove to 
 make herself attractive and interesting in the eyes of her 
 husband, for whom she had a real sentiment of love and 
 respect, except once in a way when he had a preaching fit 
 
120 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 on, and talked a little louder than necessary about what he 
 would have in his own house and what he would not have. 
 
 It was Jenny's dressing-room, adjoining Walter's 
 chamber, to which the sisters had retired, but Dolly and 
 Jenny literally lived together when Dolly was on a visit at 
 Westbury Lodge, and the room had been fitted up with 
 this understanding ; so that there were two almost facsimile 
 toilette tables, flashing with cut glass bottles, radiant with 
 silver-backed brushes, sparkling with gems, and furnished 
 with the various luxurious appointments of a fashionable 
 woman's room. The walls of the apartment were decor- 
 ated in what Jenny called complexion colors ; the curtains 
 white lace and pink silk, the mirrors Louise Quinze, the 
 atmosphere pleasantly perfumed, the floor of sandal wood, 
 covered with Persian rugs. It is fitting that we retire 
 while the doves of this pretty nest plume themselves for 
 their guests, to return presently, after pinning and schem- 
 ing of maid and mistress, the last touch of rouge or powder, 
 and the last critical glance into the glass. 
 
 The result must be pronounced satisfactory. Jenny 
 poses before her mirror in a pale yellow tea gown of soft 
 silk, trimmed at the throat and wrists with Mecklenburgh 
 lace, a trail of daffodils on the right shoulder a la Bern- 
 hardt, a chain of old Dutch silver round her neck, and on 
 her yellow silk shoes buckles to match, ornaments that had 
 once belonged to a rich burgomaster's wife. Her black 
 hair had in its folds old silver pins, one of which might 
 have been used to stab a rival queen in some sensational 
 novel. She was pleased with herself, as well she might be. 
 Having adjusted the last pin and arranged the last flower, 
 Jenny turned with merry eyes to Dolly, who was a perfect 
 picture of health, happiness, and mischief, in the simplest 
 of white crape Empire dresses, a pair of tiny diamond 
 earrings, her hair dressed high in loops and curls, a bunch 
 of lilies of the valley at her white throat, devoid of orna* 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, izi 
 
 ment, a simple diamond ring on one finger, and a flush of 
 pride and ambition upon her fair cheeks. Dolly looked 
 conscious of her beauty ; she already in imagination had 
 Philip at her feet, and saw herself sitting by his side in a 
 Venetian gondola, listening to the love songs and choruses 
 of minstrels, floating with the tide past Desdemona's 
 window. 
 
 " Now, girls, are you ready ? " asks Walter, putting his 
 head just inside the doorway. " I see you are. That's 
 right. Nothing like punctuality ; and, by Jove, how well 
 you look. I don't know which to admire most. But you 
 have both your own individual styles of beauty. Dolly, 
 you look like a picture I once saw in a book of beauty — 
 one of the mezzotint school, called the Dove of Amsterdam ; 
 just as fair, just as soft, just as full of health and fun. 
 Come along, Jenny ; you need no compliments to maintain 
 your courage. You have not to meet the momentous 
 question of your life to-night ; that was settled long ago, 
 and you have never regretted it, have you, dear ? " 
 
 '• Never, Walter," she replied, " and I hope Dolly will 
 be able to say the same with as clear a conscience as I can, 
 ten years from now." 
 
 " Then, it is to be settled to-night, Walter, is it ? " Dolly 
 asks. 
 
 " I suppose so, my love. Jenny .says so. Lady Forsyth 
 says so — I called there on my way home this afternoon, 
 and she was full of it — and I conclude that I am expected 
 to say the same." 
 
 " And do you mean to say that before the door closes 
 upon our two friends for the night, that I shall be engaged 
 to marry one of them ? " 
 
 " Well, I don't know that I go so far as that," said 
 Walter ; '* I thought it was to be understood that if 
 Forsyth accepted my invitation to accompany us to Italy, 
 that would be considered as tantamount to a declaration." 
 
122 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 '■'■ Yes, that is the nonsense Lady Forsyth would talk," 
 said Jenny, " but that is not what I mean, and it is not 
 what Dolly means. If ever Mr. Philip Forsyth is to pro. 
 pose, he will do so this very night ; and if he does not, 
 Sam Swynford shall to-morrow." 
 
 *'0h, that's the programme, is it? " said Walter. 
 
 " That's the programme," Jenny replied, in her pretty 
 but emphatic way ; and so the trio went down into the 
 drawing-room, almost at the same moment that Mr. Philip 
 Forsyth was announced. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 MAN PROPOSES. 
 
 Walter Milbanke was under the impression that he was 
 master in his own house, and his wife was clever enough 
 to keep this belief alive. She had her own way without 
 appearing to oppose Walter in the smallest thing. His 
 father had made it a rule to govern his household auto- 
 cratically. " Have a wife, and rule a wife," was his motto, 
 and he instilled it into Walter, but Walter's was a far more 
 gentle nature than that of his deceased father, and Jenny 
 Norcott had had sense enough to discover this the very 
 first day she was introduced to him, and on which very 
 first day she had made up her mind to have him to pro- 
 pose to her, and to promptly accept him. Within twelve 
 months of that very first day they were married. 
 
 This was ten years ago, and they had lived a happy life 
 ever since — Jenny, a clever housekeeper, fond of society 
 and dress, Walter decrying " that sort of thing," but 
 enjoying it all the same, and Westbury Lodge being known 
 among a certain set of pleasant people as a Paradise of 
 good management and merry receptions. 
 
B V ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 123 
 
 The children — there were three of them — were not 
 allowed to interfere with the social pleasures of the house; 
 they had good nurses and well-arranged apartments, and 
 only now and then were permitted to be in evidence in 
 drawing or dining room. Their mother visited them once 
 a day, and romped with them or read them stories, or 
 heard their lessons, and at night, when she was at home, 
 they said their little prayers at her knee. They came to 
 dinner at birthdays or at Christmas, they went out in 
 the carriage for a daily airing, and sometimes into the 
 park, wonderfully dressed, and with French servants pic- 
 turesquely attired, Walter, while he said Jenny was fond 
 of showing off the children when they went out, liked to 
 see the display, and was a happy well-to-do fellow, with a 
 good word for most people, rarely a bad word for anybody, 
 except once in a way, when the attentions to his wife of 
 some snob or other, who did not understand her free and 
 frank manner, aroused his marital dignity, and on one 
 occasion he actually slapped a fellow's face, and then 
 called him out. This was in the first year of his marriage. 
 He had since learned what a man must put up with, 
 having a pretty and charmingly-dressed wife, who, assured 
 of her position, is somewhat too fearless in what she says 
 and does before strangers. 
 
 Under these conditions of domestic administration it is 
 hardly necessary to say that the dinner to which Walter 
 had invited Swynford, and Mrs. Milbanke Philip Forsyth, 
 was an adequate, pleasant and cheery repast ; no fuss, 
 no formality — as Walter said, en famille — eight o'clock, 
 bright fires (it was the last week in March, and the En- 
 glish Spring was setting in with its accustomed severity), 
 two good dishes among the kickshaws, a bottle of dry 
 champagne, no nonsense about whitewash after dinner, but 
 a drop of Margeaux and as quickly as might be afterwards 
 a good cigar and a thimbleful of black coffee, and join the 
 ladies in half an hour. 
 
t24 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 Walter had a glib and happy vocabulary, a touch of the 
 Charles Mathews manner, and which his wife in moments 
 of badinage said had come to him ever since he played, 
 at some private theatricals, the leading part of " Patter 
 versus Clatter." 
 
 During that one good cigar after dinner, Walter had 
 tried to talk of the Venetian trip, which had often been 
 discussed by the Westbury Lodge household, to be at last 
 finally settled upon. Philip had of his own accord ex- 
 pressed a wish to accompany the party, and his mother had 
 secretly confided to Mrs. Milbanke that this proposal was 
 preliminary to a second one of a more important nature. 
 
 The Milbankes were well satisfied with this arrangement. 
 Dolly, while she flirted with Sam Swynford, and indeed 
 with any other eligible gentleman who came in her way, 
 was far more serious with Phil Forsyth than with anyone 
 else, had indeed gone so far as to dance with him at Lady 
 Marchmount's ball five times, to Phil's entire satisfaction 
 and to the envy of several of his acquaintances. 
 
 Philip Forsyth, being of a more or less reflective turn 
 of mind, and a student in name and in reality, enjoyed 
 the light-hearted chat and merry ways of Dolly, and it 
 must be confessed she was a very bright and pretty girl. 
 She had dark brown eyes, a fair complexion, light brown 
 hair with a suggestion of sunshine in the tone of it, a 
 straight little nose, that had in early youth made up its 
 mind to be retrousse^ and had become more demure later on, 
 to develop into a coquettish something between humorous 
 snub and serious straight, the effect of which was, to 
 quote Sam Swynford, " awfully taking, my boy." She had 
 a dainty, willowy figure, not too willowy, but with sufficient 
 roundness to suggest generosity of living and generosity 
 of nature. Coupled with all this she had a musical little 
 laugh, which in an ugly girl would have been called a 
 giggle, but in the case of Dolly was a pretty trill of gaiety 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 125 
 
 and good humor. In her own heart she did not quite 
 know which of her two lovers she Hked best. In her 
 merriest moods she fancied Sam, who was always " on for 
 fun," as he said ; who brought none of his business worries 
 to dinner — a contrast to Philip, who when he had difficulties 
 with his painting managed to cast the reflection of them 
 on the party. 
 
 Once in a way, when Dolly had a headache or had been 
 disappointed in the fitting of a dress, or when her sister 
 had not got the box at the opera which Walter had 
 promised for a Patti night, she preferred the society of 
 Phil, who was always more or less ready to be doleful ; 
 but she liked him best when she met him out at a ** swag- 
 ger literary party," to quote Sam again, and the conversation 
 turned upon a big subject, political or artistic, and Philip 
 Forsyth came out with some of his strong and well-ex- 
 pressed opinions, and the table became silent to listen, and 
 she heard men say he was a very clever fellow, and 
 how eloquent he was, and how sincere, and how refreshing 
 it was to hear a young man talk well and not be afraid to 
 be honest and even sentimental. 
 
 But this was no doubt a matter of pride on Dolly's 
 part, and on these occasions her sister would take the 
 opportunity, just in a delicate way, to let it be known to 
 the biggest gossip in the room that Mr. Forsyth was in 
 love with Dolly, and Dolly would sing like an angel the 
 moment she was asked, and the gossi]) in question would 
 make an opportunity to remark to his friends what a lucky 
 fellow Forsyth was, and so on. Both Phil and Dolly 
 would be pleased with all this, and so that possible engage- 
 ment was fostered up to the days of the proposed Venetian 
 trip, the making of which was to settle the one great 
 question of two households, the Milbankes' and Forsyths' ; 
 for Lady Forsyth had come to the conclusion that a 
 cheerful wife like Dolly, with an equally cheerful fortune, 
 
Za6 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 would be of all things the best for Phil, whom she loved 
 as ardently as her somewhat frivolous and too impulsive 
 nature would permit. She loved him intensely, while the 
 fit was on, just as she loved her friends while they were 
 there, with this additional weight in Philip's favor, that he 
 was her son, that she was proud of him, and that all of 
 her impassioned affection that was not absorbed in politics, 
 society, and in those memories of the past about which 
 she wrote so much in the magazines, was absorbed in 
 her darling — the apple of her eye, the joy of her widow- 
 hood, ''the genius of a line of brilliant men and women," 
 to borrow her own words, as we have borrowed some of 
 Sam Swynford's vocabulary. 
 
 " The fact is," said Walter, as he handed his choicest 
 brand of cigars to Swynford and Forsyth, and he was ad- 
 dressing the former, " Philip is going with us to Venice 
 I believe." 
 
 " Lucky dog," said Sam, " I wish I could." 
 
 Walter didn't dream of saying, "nobody asked you, my 
 boy," but in a sidewink at Phil he allowed the artist to 
 understand that such was the case, and that for his own 
 part, even setting aside the question of Dolly, he would 
 prefer the cultured society of Phil to the more vulgar if 
 more genial companionship of Sam. 
 
 " Too busy making money just now," said Sam, " to get 
 away even for a day." He said this as cheerily as if he 
 had not absolutely lost half the ten thousand we" have 
 already heard about. 
 
 A true speculator, Sam, no whining, no de^;pondency 
 over losses, just the same keen firm grip of things whether 
 he lost or won, just the same looking forward to the big 
 fortune he meant to win, with the exception that losses 
 were a sort of tonic to him. 
 
 "The city is very lively just Jiow ? " said Walter inter- 
 rogatively, addressing Sam. 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. Wj 
 
 " Yes, and will be livelier yet," said Sam. 
 
 " A tremendous company boom on— the Americans call 
 everything a boom. Everybody with a fine flourishing 
 business making thousands a month wants to share their 
 profits with the public,'' said Walter. 
 
 " Quite so," said Sam. " Traders, manufacturers, brew- 
 ers, miners, have suddenly become philanthropists." 
 
 " No other desire than to endow the general public with 
 twenty-five per cent, for capital for which a niggardly 
 Government will only give two and a half" 
 
 " Punch couldn't put the situation better," said Swynford, 
 laughing, " unless, perhaps, it added that the Peerage, the 
 Army and Navy, and the House of Commons had joined 
 in the benevolent scheme as directors, with a unanimity 
 of belief in joint stock enterprises that made guinea-pigging 
 a positive virtue." 
 
 Philip drank his wine, stretched his legs, and looked 
 into the fire, feeling himself entirely out of the conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 '' You don't speculate, Forsyth ? " said Walter, turning 
 to PhiHp. 
 
 " I do indeed, very much," replied Philip. 
 
 " Do you, though ? " said Sam. 
 
 '* Not in the city," the artist replied ; " but in many ways 
 and about many things." 
 
 *' Ah, yes," said Walter ; " but you have not to pay for 
 your fancies." 
 
 " It don't matter, for example," remarked Sam, " whether 
 your futures come off or not ; but in the city, whether you 
 bull or bear futures, the results are matters of the highest 
 banking importance, eh, Walter ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Walter, examining his cigar as if he loved 
 it. Walter was a luxurious smoker ; he literally fondled 
 his cigars. 
 
 " It is a good thing we are not all in the same line of 
 
128 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 business," remarked Philip. " But I am not so sure that 
 speculations which do not involve the passing of money- 
 are not perhaps in some respects nearly as important as 
 dealings in stocks." 
 
 " More so," said Sam. " It's a vulgar business, dealing 
 in stocks, but it has its fun, and if you are lucky it enables 
 a fellow to help the other chaps who speculate about art, 
 and the future, and all that sort of thing. We are rare 
 hands in the city at buying pictures and books, and doing 
 the right thing by art and intellect, don't you know? 
 There ain't an atom of pride in the city, and we are always 
 deuced glad for one of you intellectual swells to come up 
 and see us." 
 
 *' Yes, that's true," said Walter. " They even treat me 
 well ; but I confess I generally drop in upon city friends 
 at lunch time — and don't they lunch ! And what snug 
 taverns ! Busy clubs ! And there are gangs now — North 
 gangs, Rothschild gangs. Nitrate gangs, South-African 
 mining gangs ; seems to me men operate in syndicates 
 now, is it not so, Swynford ? " 
 
 Walter was warming again to his city subject, and Swyn- 
 ford beamed on him gratefully. 
 
 " Yes, don't know that they might almost be called con- 
 spiracies. I can tell you, a fellow who has to fight for his 
 own hand as I do is lucky if he comes out with his hair on. 
 But the public is so confiding. The rigging of companies' 
 shares, before and after allotment, would give thimble- 
 rigging odds, and win easy." 
 
 " You don't seem to approve of the city, Mr. Swynford," 
 said Philip. 
 
 " Oh, yes I do, bless you ! it's a game. I don't know 
 tliat it is much worse than the law, with all respect to our 
 host ; it is honester than politics, and you can get a deuce 
 of a lot of fun for your money." 
 
 ^* It beats the law there," Walter rejoined, fondling his 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. I2lg 
 
 cigar. ** But Art I fancy has its mirthful side, eh, For- 
 syth ? well let us say its rosy side, if mirthful is too flip- 
 pant." 
 
 ** Art is a cap and bells under a cassock," said Phil, 
 addressing himself to the fire. 
 
 '' And the city's a pleasant fellow, with a flower in his 
 buttonhole and a swindling prospectus in his pocket," said 
 Swynford with a hearty laugh. 
 
 '' Swynford wouldn't like to hear anyone else attack 
 the old lady of Threadneedle Street in that fashion," said 
 Walter, addressing Philip; "but let us drop that vene- 
 rable nonentity — she must be deaf with the recent financial 
 booms — Venice is more in our way, is it not, Forsyth ? " 
 
 '* I daresay Mr. Swynford gets quite as much pleasure 
 out of the city as we do this side Temple Bar, and I am 
 quite sure he would find as much real enjoyment in Venice 
 as we shall. Don't think, my dear Mr. Swynford, that I 
 imagine my profession is a more noble one than yours. 
 On reflection, and notwithstanding what I said a little 
 while since, I am inclined to think trade, business, finance, 
 have the best of it. I sometimes wonder if painting and 
 acting and writing novels and plays, and indeed if all the 
 other fields of art are not the mere play grounds of men 
 who think they are tilling a splendid soil, and after all do 
 not succeed in providing mankind with either food* or 
 raiment ; they are not producers who keep the world 
 going, they grow no corn, dig up no coal, make no iron, 
 weave no cloth ; they are after all nothing but " 
 
 " Producers of the salt of life," said Walter. " It is the 
 artists and craftsmen who make life worth living. What 
 is the moneyed man's highest ambition ? To surround 
 himself first with their work and then with the artists 
 themselves ; which brings us back to the Venetian question. 
 Those old fellows of the great Republic : they knew how 
 ^9 C9mbiiie trade with art, how to glorify money, how to 
 
 9 
 
I30 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 make it and how to spend it. Is it settled, Forsyth, that 
 you are to be one of our little party ? We go next month. 
 Our plan at present is not to stop until we get to Milan ; 
 then on to Verona ; next to Venice ; stay there six or 
 eight weeks, and after a run through the Lakes, return via 
 Switzerland and Paris. Is it true that you have taken a 
 studio in Venice ? " 
 
 " I have had one offered to me. I should like to go \ 
 indeed, it is one of the dreams of my life that I would like 
 to realize." 
 
 " You have a good many dreams, you fellows who 
 paint," replied Swynford. 
 
 *■'- Yes," said Phil, his mind running on the face in his 
 sketch, "any fellow might be excused for dreaming over 
 such cigars as Milbanke's, not to mention his claret. What 
 a capital dinner you have given us. JBut your cook is a 
 treasure." 
 
 Philip felt he must make an effort to get away from his 
 picture. His work always took strong hold of his imagin- 
 ation, but " Tragedy " seemed to be taking full and entire 
 possession of him ; he began to wish he had never seen 
 the woman at the opera. " Shall we join the ladies, Mil- 
 banke.?" 
 
 " By all means. Shall I tell them you will join us in our 
 Italian holiday.?" 
 
 " Yes, I think so." 
 
 " Bull or bear in that stock?" said Sam Swynford to 
 himself as the three left the room. *' I suppose he will take 
 the pool j just my luck ! " 
 
 Mr. Swynford was a stock-broker and he looked it. 
 There was a certain city go and swagger in his manner, 
 which gave confidence to his customers and made Sam 
 welcome both in artistic society and among his city friends. 
 He was breezy and alive with animal spirits, dressed well, 
 wore a flower in his button-hole summer and winter, was 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 131 
 
 always groomed " up to the nines," as some of the most 
 slangy of his acquaintances described the polish of his 
 boots, his waxed moustache, his close-cropped hair, and 
 his well-brushed coats. He was what would be termed a 
 young man with a fair complexion, and accordingly on that 
 account Mrs. Milbanke was inclined to think that Philip 
 Forsyth had the best chance in the competition for Dolly, 
 because in love, like does not like like, but its opposite. 
 Sam was of medium height, inclined to be what is called 
 stout, was broad of shoulder, his hands of a generous type, 
 and he had a fat cheery laugh. He wore tight coats, a 
 showy watch chain, and carried a big silver-mounted 
 stick. 
 
 On the present occasion his dress clothes were in the 
 height of fashion — silk facings, silk collar and white vest, 
 with a single small gem in the way of a stud for his imma- 
 culate shirt front. His somewhat florid cheeks shone with 
 health, his grey eyes sparkled with his host's wine. He 
 had no peculiarities of manner, but was a type of a fairly 
 bred young Englishman, in a big way of business, perfectly 
 at home with himself except when he was near Dolly Nor- 
 cott, with whom he was over head and ears in love ; and 
 without, as he feared, the remotest chance of ever winning 
 even her esteem, he yet thought of the possibility of mak- 
 ing a heap of money for her, whenever he entered upon a 
 more than ordinary large hazard either as a bull or a bear. 
 He had never dared to propose to Dolly, because she had 
 more than once given him to understand that any familiar- 
 ity of that kind would be fatal to their friendship ; that she 
 was not for him in any other capacity than one of friend- 
 ship ; that as a friend she liked him better than any other 
 of her brother-in-law's guests, and she hoped he would not 
 compel her to ask Walter not to invite him any more to 
 Westbury Lodge. Although this had been said more or 
 less jestingly, Sam knew that for the time being Dolly meant 
 
132 B Y ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 it ; but he had a lurking hope that in the course of the 
 chapter of accidents he might have a chance. Possibly 
 his city experiences encouraged him to think of his pros- 
 pects in this way, because he had so often seen the unex- 
 pected happen on the Stock Exchange, and he did not see 
 why the doctrine of chances which affected his operations 
 there should not also influence his speculations in regard 
 to Dolly, the one line of matrimonial stock which lie desired 
 to inscribe in his book of options. Somehow, however, on 
 this night of his latest little dinner at Westbury Lodge he 
 had misgivings as to his prospects in that quarter ; but he 
 made it a rule to appear cheerful and happy under all cir- 
 cumstances, so he sailed into the drawing-room after Philip 
 and Walter, with the smile of apparent confidence and 
 unconcern. 
 
 There was just enough of the decorative craze of the day 
 in the arrangement of the Milbanke drawing-room to give 
 it an air of modern prettiness, but not so much as to 
 destroy the sense of comfort, which is often sacrificed to 
 artistic show. It was neither a harmony in yellow nor a 
 symphony in pink; it was not an inspiration from Japan, 
 nor a copy of a Chippendale idea adapted to parquette 
 flooring and Queen Anne windows ; there had been no 
 paragraphs in the Society papers about it ; probably neither 
 Mr. Whistler nor Mr. Menpes had ever seen it, and if they 
 had they would most likely have condemned it. Neverthe- 
 less you felt that the decorator had worked at it with artistic 
 feeling, and that the hostess had supplemented his labors 
 with ideas beyond the reach of art. There was a copper 
 kettle singing on an old hob-grate, a cluster of candelabra on 
 the mantel, a sconce or two of gas on the walls, a dozen or 
 so fine examples of Cox, Haleswelle, Herkomer and Carot 
 on the walls, a cabinet of Venetian glass, a many-legged 
 table with a crown Derby coffee service upon it, and a 
 dainty liquor case j the floor was covered with Persian 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 133 
 
 ^•ligs, there was drawn up before the fire a big much- 
 cushioned seat ; and the general tone of the room was 
 yellow, but whether it 'was the yellow of warm light or the 
 yellow of curtains and walls one did not think of inquiring, 
 though one might wonder about all this afterwards, reflect- 
 ing on the pretty, comfortable, unusual kind of room it 
 was. 
 
 Mrs. Milbanke was seated at a pretty tea table, lighted 
 with a pretty copper lamp. Dolly was half buried in an 
 easy chair with the last new book in her lap. Swynford 
 hoped she was enjoying her literature. She looked up with 
 a mischievous smile and said she was, though she must 
 confess it was full of sadness, not to say horrors. Step- 
 niak's " Russia under the Czars," she continued, this time 
 turning her blue eyes towards Philip, who, of course, be- 
 came immediately interested. Her sister had suggested 
 the book as a desirable one to have lying about since they 
 had seen the sketch on Philip's easel, and they had driven 
 down to Mudie's for it before going home after they had 
 left the studio that very afternoon. It had not taken Dolly 
 half an hour, the half hour after dinner, to get at the tone 
 of the work, and to know just enough to let Philip see that 
 she was interested in the subjects which interested him. 
 
 ** Yes," he replied, sitting down by her side, '.' it is a 
 painful subject, though one might be forgiven for expecting 
 to find something noble in pages inscribed with such a 
 title — but there is in the record of its martydoms." 
 
 There was something fateful in Philip's appearance and 
 manner ; he was pale, his black hair was dishevelled, it 
 fell in a great shock over his forehead, his long hands were 
 particularly white, and there was a poetic melancholy in 
 the expression of his sallow face that suggested much 
 thought and work. All this made him interesting in Dolly's 
 estimation, and she was also taken by the air of distinction 
 which seemed to belong to those student-like character- 
 
134 ^y ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 istics which were so opposite to the happy professional air 
 of her brother-in-law, and to the smug city cheerfulness of 
 Samuel Swynford, of LombaM-street.' 
 
 " 1 have always been deeply concerned in regard to the 
 fate of political prisoners in Russia," continued Philip, 
 " and just now I am thinking of little else. I suppose there 
 is a touch of selfishness in this increased devotion, because 
 I am putting my feelings and my imagination into commis- 
 sion as it were ; I hope they will assist me to carry off the 
 Gold Medal." 
 
 " Oh, that is the secret of the sketch we saw this after- 
 noon ? " said Mrs. Milbanke. *' You forgot to tell us ; or 
 perhaps it is a secret." 
 
 " Forsyth thought he would not spoil a good subject for 
 conversation this evening," chimed in the host. " Yes, 
 my dear, I will have a cup of tea ; don't approve of tea as 
 a rule, ' but to-night we'll merry be,' as the song says, eh, 
 Swynford ? " 
 
 Walter did not quite know what he was saying ; not that 
 he had had too much wine, but his wife had been making 
 signs at him, and he tried to hide his non-understanding 
 of them under a ripple of talk. " A good old song," 
 he went on ; '* I remember my singing it when I was 
 a boy at a birthday — yes, my dear, Mr. Swynford will take 
 a cup of tea, and by the way, Swynford, you are a judge of 
 water colors. I would like to show you a little portfolio I 
 bought last week — a collection of landscapes and figures 
 — two little Turners, half a dozen David Cox's, a Calcott, 
 and a couple of sketches by Landseer ; here it is, my 
 boy." 
 
 And Walter, having suddenly caught the meaning of his 
 wife's nod, had led Sam to the furthest end of the room 
 away from Philip and Dolly, and was soon deep in the 
 mysteries of the portfolio in question, getting Sam's ideas 
 of its value, not only artistically but financially, together 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 '35 
 
 with his views of the present inflated state of the money 
 market and other matters of current interest. 
 
 Meanwhile Philip responded to Dolly's sympathetic 
 inquiries about prison life in Russia, the high-handed 
 character of what was termed administrative arrest, and 
 what he intended to convey in that sketch, in which the 
 woman's face was so remarkable as to have set Jenny talk- 
 ing of nothing else ever since they had seen it. Philip rode 
 his hobby gracefully, with eloquence and with knowledge, 
 and paused more than once to note how beautiful Dolly 
 was, and what a happy contrast were her red lips, her bright 
 genial eyes and warm healthful flesh, compared with the 
 woman of the opera, " the ghost of Madame Lapukin," as 
 Dick Chetwynd had styled her. 
 
 Presently Jenny had drawn her chair near the two young 
 people, to hear Philip's story of this woman at the opera, 
 and his desire to have her as a model for the face in his 
 medal picture ; and by and by she led the conversation up 
 to their trip to Italy and the poetic loveHness of Venice, 
 where she assured him he would find a model in every 
 woman of the people whom he met. She had only been 
 to Venice once, and then only for a week, and she thought 
 she had seen more beautiful women during those seven 
 days than ever she had seen in her life before. 
 
 Philip in reply could not resist the suggestion that it was 
 not necessary to go to Venice to look for beauty ; *and if 
 he accompanied them he should ask the favor of putting 
 Dolly into a Venetian picture, for so far as he was any 
 judge of the peculiarities of the Venetian face he thought 
 Dolly herself possessed that curl of the lip and that sun- 
 shine in the hair which was supposed to be thoroughly 
 Venetian. 
 
 Without seeming to say it, the clever little matchmaker 
 let Philip also understand that Dolly was also blessed with 
 a certain golden sunshine in the Three per cents., which 
 
136 £V ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 his mother, Lady Forsyth, thought an important item in 
 the charms of marriageable young ladies. 
 
 It is difficult to fathom the thoughts of man, and to say 
 whether the best of God's creatures is mercenary or not ; 
 whether the most virtuous may not be influenced now and 
 then by the worst passions. So far as the narrator of this 
 history is concerned, he is inclined to think Philip did not 
 note the worldly hint of Mrs. Milbanke, or, if he did, that 
 it had no influence with him, though the hostess more than 
 once made some passing reference to the responsibilities 
 of marriage being so greatly lessened if there was money 
 on both sides ; or if there was money on one side and 
 genius on the other, quite in a more or less inconsequential 
 way getting in a reference to an artist whom they both 
 knew who was very clever but still could not sell his pic- 
 tures, and what an important thing it was in art for a man 
 to be more or less independent of dealers, so that he could 
 afford to follow the bent of his genius or his inclination, 
 and do the work he liked best ; and so on — an eloquent 
 rush of worldly wisdom, most useful in regard to young 
 people, about to contract a marriage, and especially to a 
 couple of young people, the bride pretty, with money and 
 social position, and the bridegroom an artist, also with 
 social position, a little money, perhaps, and no end of 
 genius and ability, if he could only paint what he wished 
 and be independent of the Academy and of dealers ; and 
 somehow Philip found himself, before he quite knew where 
 he was, discussing these delicate matters, as if he or Dolly, 
 or both, were personally concerned in them. 
 
 And once, Dolly's hand being near Philip's, he laid his 
 upon hers, and she, not withdrawing it, he pressed the fair 
 hand, and was very sensible of its soft pliability. The 
 gentle pressure that responded to his, when he ventured a 
 little further and took Dolly's hand fairly within his own, 
 set his heart beating, and he forgot everything except Dolly 
 
£y ORDER OF THE CZAR. 137 
 
 and his mother's praises of her. It came into his mind 
 that it would please his mother very much if he married 
 Dolly^ and that she was very beautiful, had golden hair, a 
 sweet voice, and cheerful manners, and that sometimes 
 Fate met one half way, as it were, and sometimes clapped 
 one on the shoulder unawares, and that after all it would 
 be a pleasant Fate to be entitled to take Dolly to one's 
 arms, and have her for a lifelong companion. 
 
 While Walter Milbanke was fooling Samuel Swynford, it 
 was as good as settled that his hopes were to be utterly 
 crushed. Why, therefore, prolong the description of this 
 evening one moment more than is necessary to aquaint 
 the reader with the main incident of the night ? Swynford 
 felt uncomfortable, and said he must go earlier than he had 
 intended ; he spoke of some important business he had in 
 the city the next morning at ten, and took a cheerful leave 
 of Westbury Lodge two hours before Philip ; and long 
 before that favored young gentleman said " Good-night," 
 he had been alone with Dolly for three parts of that time^ 
 both Walter and his wife having business in another corner 
 of their pretty house ; Mrs. Milbanke to see the children 
 put to bed (though they had been in bed for hours), and 
 Walter to answer a couple of letters which had come in by 
 the last post. 
 
 It was a blissful time for Philip while it lasted ; a dream 
 of a new and unexpected kind of happiness ; a dream in 
 which hands clasped hands, and lips touched lips ; a dream 
 in which a soft, sweet, blushing girl confessed that she 
 loved him ; a dream in which he believed he loved her 
 better than anything or anybody in all the world. 
 
 And so it was settled that a fortnight later Philip For- 
 syth should accompany the Milbankes on a tour through 
 France, Italy and Switzerland, with a long vacation in 
 Venice, and that during their wanderings they should settle 
 the month in which Philip should make Dolly his wife. 
 " Man proposes;" :t ,iJDfxi'->: 
 
IgP. BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 **WHAT FATES IMPOSE, THAT MEN MUST NEEDS ABIDE." 
 
 They awoke to a new life the next day, several persons 
 in this history. The old order of things had changed in 
 a night. Dolly had a new position in the eyes of herself, 
 her relations and friends ; she was " engaged." Mrs. 
 Milbanke entered upon a fresh phase of existence; her 
 sister had " accepted " Mr. Philip Forsyth ; Lady Forsyth 
 would be Dolly's mother-in-law. Mr. Samuel Swynford 
 might no longer feel that in his city operations he was 
 working for a future in which Dolly Norcott would have 
 the leading part. Dick Chetwynd believed that the career 
 of his friend Philip Forsyth had now become secure. 
 Hitherto his prospects had needed the ballast of respon- 
 sible duties. Married to Dolly, his ambition would be 
 fostered by an absence of what the young fellow had con- 
 sidered the absolute necessity of earning his own living : 
 for although Lady Forsyth had a fair income, she spent 
 every penny of it and did not keep out of debt, and the 
 possibility of her death and his inheritance of the property 
 left by his father did not for a moment enter into Philip's 
 calculations. 
 
 Lady Forsyth felt something like a sense of triumph in 
 the engagement of Philip and Dorothy, for many reasons ; 
 it secured her son's independence, it relieved her of a kind 
 of responsibility as to his future, she liked Dolly, thought 
 the Milbankes pleasant successful people, and the ex- 
 citement of the wedding and getting ready for it would be 
 an agreeable break in her life, which, lively as it was in a 
 general way, the tune of it was all on one string. 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 139 
 
 Philip went to his studio on that memorable next day, 
 unhitched his bell, wrote " Out " on his wicket, locked his 
 door, put the key in his pocket, and entered upon a reflec- 
 tive solitude. : 
 
 The Regent's Park studios were a pretty, red-brick cluster 
 of buildings north of Primrose Hill, designed and erected 
 for art work, and for personal comfort, by an enterprising 
 architect who recognized the progressive movement of the 
 times, and in the right spirit provided a calm retreat for 
 workers who could afford to pay a fair rent for their 
 accommodation. The studios had a general portal, in 
 which resided the porter and his wife, who kept a small 
 staff of servants for the purpose of attending to the domes- 
 tic and culinary requirements of the tenants. Passing 
 through this general portal which had its gates and hours 
 on the principle of an old-fashioned college or inn, you 
 came into a courtyard, around which the studios were 
 ranged, each with its individual retiring rooms and offices. 
 Some of the men lived there altogether ; one occupant, 
 after some protests and difficulties with the landlord, had 
 been permitted to bring home his wife there ; another 
 house was occupied by a lady artist, and thus the human- 
 izing influence of woman had entered through the general 
 portal, and given a pleasant tone to the place. From the 
 moment that Hymen had come in there, aesthetic blinds, 
 red-raddled flower pots, outside mats, birds in cages, and 
 gay flower-beds had appeared ; while the harmless, neces- 
 sary cat had had a ribbon tied round its neck, and the 
 colony had made itself look just as gay and merry as it 
 undoubtedly was. There had been little luncheons and 
 an occasional reception prior to the entrance of Hymen 
 with his torch ; but they were as nothing compared with 
 the gatherings which had made the place musical and floral 
 in these latter days, when the Regent's Park studios have 
 i)ecome famous not only for the work they turn out, but 
 
140 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 for their social gaieties. Nobody would ever be able to 
 work and play as well in the same place, it was feared, 
 when Hymen was permitted to light his torch within the 
 sacred precincts j but " Out " made any studio safe from 
 interruption. '* Out," communicated to the Porter's Lodge, 
 was as powerful a talisman of protection from callers as 
 if the painter who had exhibited the legend on his wicket 
 had been leagues away ; and so the opportunity for serious 
 work was secured. It was a tribute to the earnestness 
 and industry of the region, during the weeks immediately 
 preceding the Spring Exhibitions, that, as a rule, the entire 
 colony was " out " from early morn till dewy eve ; and 
 Philip's *' Out " was therefore not singular on this bright 
 and breezy April morning. 
 
 There was a cheerful fire in his stove. The sun was 
 streaming in at his western window. Having promptly 
 drawn a blind down against the radiant light, Philip took 
 off his black morning coat and waistcoat, and put on his 
 brown velvet working jacket, removed his boots in favor 
 of a pair of white tennis shoes, and took up a position of 
 observation with his back to the stove, which was a hand- 
 some terra cotta construction, German in appearance, but 
 with the advantage of an open grate, making it a com- 
 promise between England and the foreigner so much as to 
 retain the national prejudice in favor of an open fire, 
 while it secured the German and Russian practicability of 
 a real heating stove. 
 
 Philip stood with his back to the fire and surveyed the 
 room ; not that he saw anything in it, but he surveyed it 
 all the same, looked round it, up at the roof, and down at 
 the floor, the couch with its tiger skin, his low easy chairs 
 with their fluffy cushions, his parquette floor with its 
 rugs, his screen full of rough sketches, his throne for 
 sitters, his two great easels, his cabinet crowded with 
 papers of all kinds — drawings, old engravings and new 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, I4I 
 
 sketches — and his wardrobe full of costumes, the sketch 
 on his easel covered with a piece of silk, the door opening 
 into one of his retiring rooms, with its cartoons in the 
 little passage way, his small collection of plastic ware 
 scattered here and there, and his statuettes of a Russian 
 peasant, and a baked clay model of a Polish patriot. 
 
 All these things he looked at but did not see ; his mind 
 was occupied with other images, with other thoughts ; it 
 was not altogether absent from the studio, but it was 
 making curious and strange journeys outside the porter's 
 lodge, and busy with thoughts that went out far away, 
 and with strange day-dreams. 
 
 Did he love the girl to whom last night he had engaged 
 himself in a lifelong bond ? 
 
 Or in what he had said was he pledged to that serious 
 compact of marriage ? 
 
 If Love was that absorbing passion he had dreamed of, 
 was he in love with Dolly.? 
 
 Was not his last night's engagement a sudden impulse, 
 in which there was- a good deal of passion and very little 
 love ? Was Dolly the ideal of womanhood he had dreamt 
 of as an artist, and read of in the poets ? Was she not 
 rather a pretty, clever, little woman of the world, her heart 
 in the studio of the milliner rather than in the studio of 
 the painter? 
 
 Did she really care for Art ? 
 
 Was beauty without the refining grace of culture and 
 sentiment really Beauty ? 
 
 Would any man have been happy with the most perfect 
 goddess of the Grecian sculptors ? 
 
 Did Providence for that matter ever combine true 
 physical beauty with intellectual grace ? 
 
 Had not Dolly and her sister, and even Walter, seemed 
 last night to enter into a charming conspiracy to get him 
 to ask Dolly to be his wife ? Had not Walter's genial 
 
142 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 wine, the sweet incense of admiration, the soft, cozy, health- 
 ful charms of Dolly, been sensuous, as opposed to the 
 spirituelle temptations which should guide the choice of a 
 lover who looked for a wife superior to the wiles of Society 
 and to the frivolous attractions of dress ? 
 
 These questions, not exactly in definite shape, but 
 shadowy, passed before him, without answers. They 
 seemed to have the accompaniment of some strains of 
 music from Carmen, and his thoughts wandered away to 
 the Opera, "and to the beautiful, sad face in the curtains of 
 Lady Marchmount's box. 
 
 He listened, and could hear faintly the strains of a street 
 band, which was playing a passage from the very scene 
 which had for him been interrupted by that strangely 
 fascinating presence which he had endeavored to suggest 
 in his medal picture. 
 
 His eyes wandered to the easel, and as they did so the 
 remnant of grey silk which had covered his sketch gradu- 
 ally slipped down upon the floor, and there was the face 
 looking at him through its deep red halo, and its accom- 
 panying figures of misery and suffering. There was nothing 
 supernatural in this, though it exercised an uncanny kind 
 of influence upon Philip. The truth is, the drapery had 
 been gradually slipping away for hours, influenced by the 
 increasing gravitatiqn of the heaviest part to the floor and 
 the entrance of Philip, the shutting of the door, and his 
 moving about, so that it fell away just at a critical moment 
 in Philip's reflections, and his imaginative nature found in 
 the incident a shadow of a protest against the chief event 
 of the previous night. 
 
 If Dolly's face only gave you the idea that there was 
 something behind it, he went on mentally saying to himself, 
 an intellectuality beyond mere worldliness, how much more 
 beautiful it would be ! But he could lead her in the 
 dirc9tion of the studies he liked j he could give her an 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. * 143 
 
 ambition higher than that of shining in Society ; he could 
 bring her sympathies within his own control. Could he? 
 There was the rub. And there, still before him, was his 
 idea of the face which of all others he had ever seen pos- 
 sessed intellectual fire, poetic sentiment, but had withal a 
 something fearful in its great eyes, and something thril- 
 lingly mysterious in its sudden appearance and in its no 
 less startling disappearance. 
 
 He walked to the easel, picked up the silk remnant, and 
 glanced round the room as if he expected to see some one ; 
 then mechanically wrapping up the piece of silk, placed it 
 carefully away in his wardrobe, took up his palette, wiped 
 it, and commenced to squeeze a series of color tubes 
 upon it. 
 
 While he is thus engaged, let us glance at him critically. 
 It is a promising youth, not quite rugged enough perhaps 
 for the making of a man of action, but at the same time 
 betokening firmness, good health, ambition, checked, how- 
 ever, by one physiognomical drawback, a somewhat weak 
 chin, and with eyebrows that as a rule rarely accompany a 
 happy disposition. Lavater has some notable views upon 
 the meeting eyebrows held by the Arabs to be so beautiful, 
 and by the old physiognomists to be the mark of craft, but 
 regarded by the master as neither beautiful nor betokening 
 craft, but rather, while giving the face a somewhat gloomy 
 appearance, denoting trouble of mind and heart. Similarly 
 with the pointed chin ; many people believe it to be the 
 accompaniment of acuteness and craft, but Lavater knew 
 many honorable persons with such chins, and he noted 
 that their craft is the craft of the best dramatic poetry. 
 
 Philip Forsyth had the melancholy eyebrows and the flaw 
 of weakness in the chin, not as to the pointed chin, but to 
 the want of angularity, and the suggestion of retreat, coupled 
 with a something negative in both its form and size ; but for 
 these drawbacks Philip's face was the face of an artist, and a 
 
144 ^y ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 man of nobility of mind and ambition. The compact fore* 
 head, the thick black hair, the perfect nose — suggestive of 
 the keystone to the Gothic arch, as Lavater regarded it — the 
 dark, steadfast e3'es, the strong hands with the long dexter- 
 ous fingers, the well-proportioned limbs, moderate breadth 
 of shoulder with narrow hips and easy graceful movements, 
 all belonging to masculine beauty, and to a nature of keen 
 sensibilities. Meeting Philip for the first time, you would 
 have regarded him as a young man out of the common ; 
 but you might have credited him with nursing an ambi- 
 tion he could not realize, or with a melancholy turn of 
 disposition — qualities which are not without attraction in 
 the young, who are just beginning to realize the respon- 
 sibilities of existence. 
 
 There was perhaps a further touch of weakness in Philip's 
 individual characteristics — namely, in his gait and manner. 
 He did not walk straight and direct to anything : there was 
 a something akin to feline gracefulness in his movements. 
 He approached an object with a certain swerve of motion, 
 as if he, more or less, walked in curves, as graceful actors 
 do ; and this also was characteristic of his mode of thought. 
 It was to the line of retreat in the chin, its slight under- 
 size, that physiognomists would credit this peculiarity, 
 combined with a strong imagination not under the full 
 control of the logical or executive faculties. 
 
 But these very weaknesses helped in many respects to 
 add to the attractiveness of Philip's work and conversation. 
 They made, for instance, Dick Chetwynd feel perfectly 
 safe in giving him advice, and added to Dick's satisfaction 
 with the young fellow's matrimonial engagement to a pretty, 
 sensible girl not likely to be led away by will-o'-the-wisps, 
 and with sufllicient money in the three per cents to give 
 stability to his social and domestic position. 
 
 Philip, having laid his palette and brushes down by the 
 easel, took from his pocket a cigar case, selected a cigar, 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 145 
 
 lighted it, dragged a chair in front of his sketch, sat cross- 
 legged upon it and looked at the canvas steadfastly, 
 smoking all the time, and occasionally looking upwards, 
 watching the blue wreaths break upon the cross beam, 
 from which swung specimens of old flint guns, spears, 
 bows and arrows, and a Roman corslet. 
 
 With the eye of imagination he saw his picture grow into 
 what it might be, what he hoped it would be, not only a 
 great work of art, but an everlasting rebuke to Russian 
 tyranny — not simply the study to which the Academy had 
 awarded the Gold Medal, but the study which had perhaps 
 brought the awful political disabilities of the Russians home 
 to the sufferers, helping the champions of the people to 
 break the chains that kept Liberty in prison, galled its 
 flesh, and wore its brain to madness. 
 
 He had once seen of band a political prisoners and 
 criminals start on their weary way to Siberia, and he had 
 never forgotten it, nor would, though he was not more than 
 nine years old at the time. It was during the years his 
 mother and father had lived in Moscow. Wherever they 
 are condemned to Siberian exile by order of the Czar — 
 everything is by order of the Czar in that vast, despotically- 
 governed empire-^they proceed first to Moscow, where, 
 after a brief sojourn in the great convict prison there, they 
 start on their awful journey. The prison is some distance 
 from the city, and Philip remembered that he and his 
 father rose very early to see the exiles leave, his father 
 having some mission of benevolence to one of them, which 
 he was allowed to undertake by order of the Czar, The 
 penal settlement was a series of huts and houses surr 
 rounded by a high wall. There were numerous sentinels, 
 and they had many formalities to go through before Philip's 
 father saw the wretched man for whom he had brought the 
 last parting messages from a broken-hearted wife. The 
 prisoners included both men and women, and they were as 
 
 10 
 
146 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 a rule attired in a uniform kind of dress, which seemed to 
 Philip's memory to be a long, loose great coat of a rough 
 grey cloth. As they left the prison they saw the first gang 
 begin their march, and it was the recollection of this that 
 had enabled Philip to give life and reality to the more 
 terrible narratives of which he had since read and heard — 
 incidents on the road, deaths by the way, tragedies en 
 route, during which the Czar had been relieved of many 
 prisoners, the innocent and the guilty, the hardened 
 criminal and the spotless victim of his infernal rule. 
 Philip remembered the heavy rings that were riveted upon 
 the legs of the convicts, one for each ankle, united by a 
 chain, which fetters were linked with others, holding 
 groups or companies together to render the surveillance of 
 their guards easy and complete, as they held their weary 
 way across the vast steppes into the Siberian wilds, where 
 even Nature allied itself with the Czar to torment and kill 
 them. 
 
 It did not require much knowledge or imagination to 
 introduce into a group of the poor, wretched creatures 
 that young student falling by the way, nor to bring a suffer- 
 ing woman to his aid, nor to invoke the interposition of 
 the brutal Cossack against both of them. This was the 
 incident upon which Philip concentrated his mind and his 
 brush, and to-day, having promised himself models for 
 these three figures, he still went on painting from memory, 
 a touch here, a correction there^ 
 
 Unconsciously he found that he was sketching himself 
 as the dying student. Every touch he put into the figure 
 made it more and more like him, but every touch upon 
 the woman he rubbed out again. It was an inspiration, 
 that woman's face. He felt it as such, and now the fear 
 took possession of him afresh that he would never be able 
 to finish it. He therefore came to the wise conclusion 
 not to touch the original sketch again, but to make new 
 Studies for any alterations in its development. 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 147 
 
 The face took fresh possession of him as he worked ; 
 and when presently he began to think again of Dolly, and 
 to picture in his mind the scene she had forecast of a 
 floating gondola on the Grand Canal, with only they two 
 and the gondolier in the moonlight, with music rising and 
 falling in the sweet Spring air, that face had gradually as it 
 were eclipsed Dolly's cheerful, love-inviting features, and it 
 was at the feet of the strange woman he was sitting, and 
 the music changed to the appealing and the defiant strains 
 of the mountain scene, with the loving maiden fresh from 
 the innocent village and the dying mother, and Philip again 
 looked round the studio as if someone had come in without 
 opening the door. 
 
 Then with a sigh he laid down his brushes, and stag- 
 gered, rather than walked, into an inner room, that was 
 fitted up as part bedroom, part sitting-room and dressing- 
 room, flung himself down before a crucifix, and prayed 
 with all his heart for guidance, for aid, and for comfort. 
 
 When he rose from his knees he returned to the studio 
 and paced to and fro in a steady, steadfast manner, 
 occasionally running his fingers through his hair, but never 
 pausing until after nearly an hour of this physical and 
 mental exercise — for he was thinking and revolving all 
 manner of ideas about himself, the picture, Dolly, and the 
 woman of the opera box — he drew a couch before the 
 stove, lay down, and, tired in mind and body, drifted into 
 that kind of sleep which Dickens speaks of as stealing 
 upon us sometimes, and while it holds the body prisoner 
 does not free the mind from a sense of things about it, but 
 enables it to ramble as it pleases. 
 
 Philip, resting with a sense of the happiness that comes 
 with the redressing of every physical want, wandered off 
 into pleasanter dreams than those which had hitherto filled 
 his waking mind. Once more it was Dolly at whose feet 
 he reclined on the waters of that city of the ocean he had 
 
148 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 longed to visit, and which he was now to see for the first 
 time in loving company, with blue eyes that would return 
 his admiring gaze, with soft hands that would respond to 
 the tender pressure of his own, his love and hers set to 
 glorious music, and basking in Italian sunshine. And so 
 the time passed away. The sun had gone down, and the 
 mists had fallen all over Primrose Hill when he awoke, 
 his fire out, and only a faint glimmer of the gaslight from 
 without showing him where he was, the half waking sleep 
 of his first hour having changed into a dreamless time, 
 out of which he rose, however, cold, and feeling the prosaic 
 sensations of hunger. 
 
 At about the same time that he woke up Dick Chetwynd 
 arrived at the Lodge. *' Out " was the answer. 
 
 " But * In ' and working," said Chetwynd. 
 
 "Well, yes, sir," said the porter's wife, "and what we 
 considers a little odd, he have had nothing to eat all day ; 
 not rung his bell for nothing, and come ever so early." 
 
 " Sure he has not gone out ? " 
 
 "Quite sure." 
 
 " Then I think I might break the rules and see what he 
 is about, eh ? " 
 
 " Well, sir, you might, being his most intimate friend, 
 and exonerating me and my husband." 
 
 " Quite so," said Dick, passing through the barrier and 
 going straight to Philip's quarters, which had a separate 
 porch or passage-way and were especially private and 
 secluded. It was now too dark to see the legend '^ Out " 
 upon the wicket, the gas lamp at the entrance only seem- 
 ing to cast the floor in darker shadow." 
 
 " What the mischief can he be at ? " Dick said to himself 
 as he performed a stirring fantasia upon Philip's knocker. 
 
 The door was almost immediately opened, but the 
 studio was in darkness, every blind down, the only light 
 being a faint gleam from some outside lamp. " Hello ! " 
 said Dick. " What's going on here ? " 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 I4Q 
 
 " I don't know, I believe I am," said Philip. <* Come in, 
 Chetwynd ; have you a match ? " 
 
 *' A match, yes. What's the matter? " 
 
 " Nothing's the matter," said Philip, " only that I have 
 been to sleep." 
 
 " What, all day long ? " asked Dick, lighting a match. 
 
 " I don't know ; I think I have, or else been dreaming. 
 It is awfully good of you to come, old chap." 
 
 ' Philip took the match from Dick, lighted a lamp, and 
 shivered. " Is it not very cold? What's the time ? " 
 
 " It is very cold and the time is seven o'clock. You 
 have not dined ? " 
 
 '' No," said Philip. 
 
 " That's right," said Dick, " I have not. Come home 
 with me.' 
 
 *' My mother expects me to dinner." 
 
 '' No, she does not. I have seen her ; met her at Mar- 
 tinotti's studio ; an exhibition of his models for the Gari- 
 baldi statue. I told her I should call for you and carry 
 you off. But what have you been doing, my dear fellow ? 
 You are as white as Martinotti's plaster ! " 
 
 " I have been trying to work." 
 
 " I expected to find you radiant after what happened last 
 night. I suppose the new impulse it has given to your 
 ambition has set you working too hard to-day ? You must 
 not do that. I congratulate you, my dear boy ; it is a 
 most desirable match in every way." 
 
 " I hope so," said Philip. 
 
 " You hope so, you young vagabond ? " said Dick — he 
 always called him a young vagabond when he liked him 
 most — " you know it is," 
 
 " She is a sweet girl," said Philip ; " I wish I was worthy 
 of her." 
 
 *' Worthy ? Fiddlesticks ! Go now and dress and let 
 us be off; you don't mean to say you have been here all 
 
156 BV ORDER OF THE CZAk. 
 
 day without luncheon, and not even open your newspapers I 
 This will not do, Phil, even when a young fellow is in love. 
 So you have been working on the sketch, have you? 
 Humph ! I don't think I should touch it any more ; get at 
 the picture, dear old chap, that's the thing to do now. 
 And I have tremendous news for you ! " 
 
 '' Indeed ? " 
 
 *' Yes, dress, and I'll tell you as we go Dorset-square." 
 
 Philip lighted another lamp, and went into the next 
 room. 
 
 " I shall smoke while you dress." 
 
 *' All right," said Philip, " but come in." 
 
 *' No, I shall amuse myself with the gold medal ; imagine 
 you carrying it off, and having a silk rope round the pic- 
 ture at the Burlington house, or at another Gallery we wot 
 of if you like." 
 
 " But what is the news ? " asked Philip, now busy dress- 
 ing. 
 
 '' Great news, Phil ; the making of your picture. I shall 
 not tell you until you are dressed." 
 
 Philip, now thoroughly aroused, was fairly back again in 
 the every-day world ; he put his head into the washing 
 bowl, and was soon all aglow ; it did not take him ten 
 minutes to dress, and the porter's wife answered the bell 
 with unwonted alacrity. 
 
 " I have a hansom at the gate," said Dick, when Philip 
 asked the porter's wife to have one ordered. 
 
 The attendant being gone, " now," said Philip, " what 
 is your news, Dick ? " 
 
 " Let me help you on with your overcoat ; it's a cold 
 night, bright starlight, frosty ; you must not get a chill." 
 
 '*0h, I'm all right," said Phil. 
 
 " But you do not exactly belong to yourself any more, 
 you know; you have to take care, for Dolly's sake." 
 
 /' Very well," replied Phil, just a little impatiently ; " let 
 me shut the door ; all right, mind the step." 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 151 
 
 Studio lights were burning in the windows, the married 
 quarters of Hymen with the torch looking more cheerful 
 than any other of the homes of Art. There was a faint 
 perfume of wall-flowers from an adjacent window box ; the 
 porter's lodge was radiant with a crackling and cheerful 
 fire ; and in the street was a hansom with two white lamps, 
 which were presently dancing along the Albert-road by 
 Primrose Hill and away down Baker-street towards Dorset- 
 square. 
 
 " And now, Phil," said Dick, turning to his friend, " pull 
 yourself together for the news." 
 
 " I have been doing that for the last half hour," said 
 Philip. 
 
 " I have found her.'' 
 
 " Great heavens, whom ? " exclaimed Philip ; his heart 
 beating wildly, in spite of himself. 
 
 '* Your ghost of Madame Lapukin. But more like 
 Cleopatra than Lapukin, I fancy." 
 
 " Do you mean the woman 1 saw at the opera ? " 
 
 *' Who else could I mean 1 * 
 
 ** How do you know it is her? " 
 
 " From your description and your portrait of her. A 
 superb woman ! But not half so melancholy as you make 
 out; and her hair is chesnut, not red; a chesnut that 
 will drive you crazy ; great violet eyes set in a colorless 
 face of aesthetic IpveHness ; but her mouth ! well, it is the 
 mouth of Clytemnestra ! " 
 
 " It is not the same woman, Dick." 
 
 '* Yes, it is, and to-night you shall see her and talk to 
 her, and ask her to sit to you." 
 
 /' And who is she then ?" Philip asked, *'and why did 
 she appear in Lady Marchmount's box like a vision and 
 disappear like a dream ? " 
 
 " You can ask her yourself. I saw her this morning at 
 the Gallery ; and she is the famous Russian Countess, Olga 
 Stravenski." 
 
152 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 '* And I thought she might have been a Nihilistic spy, 
 the victim of some vile conspiracy," said Phil, in a tone of 
 been disappointment. " A Russian Coimtess ! To ask 
 her to see my sketch would be to insult her ; to sit for 
 that suffering angel she has inspired, an outrage. I don't 
 wish to see her." 
 
 " Oh yes, you do ! Here we are." 
 
 The cab pulled up at one of the best houses in the 
 square, well-known in art circles, a home of taste and 
 social geniality. 
 
 " She is coming here after dinner ; and I have to thank 
 you for the honor," said Dick, as he turned the latch with 
 his key. " I told her all about you, and she shall sit for 
 the medal." 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 HOW CHETWYND MET THE COUNTESS. 
 
 Mrs. Chetwynd was as buxom as her husband was genial. 
 She was a woman of the right sort to help a man on in 
 life. More particularly was she just the woman for Dick. 
 In his early days of journalistic struggles she had not only 
 enabled him to keep up a good appearance in the world, 
 but she had made his home comfortable, if not luxurious, 
 on two pounds a week ; and to-day she made his fifteen 
 hundred a year go as far as most men's five thousand. 
 Often in past days Mrs. Chetwynd had cooked a dinner 
 and left the kitchen to preside over it, and had played the 
 part of both cook and hostess equally well. Nor was she 
 lacking in artistic taste or literary culture. She was a 
 bright, clever woman, not above a woman's duty, not 
 ashamed of her domestic work, and happy because she 
 had made Dick's position a certainty. 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 153 
 
 " We have always been equal to either fortune/' Dick 
 would say in confidential moments, when discussing the 
 difficulties of the London battle ; '* we could have lived 
 in a garret at any time, and got as much happiness out of 
 it as if it had been a palace ; and that is the only way for 
 a man and woman to fight the battle of London together." 
 
 *' We are dining in Dick's room to-night," said buxom 
 Mrs. Chetwynd, " because we have a reception, and I want 
 the lower rooms of the house free, and, morever, I like to 
 give the servants every chance to keep their heads, and we 
 do not have any assistance on these occasions, Mr. For- 
 syth. Dick does not believe in hired waiters and manu- 
 factured food." 
 
 She always quoted Dick as if she consulted him on 
 everything, which she did not. But she was always 
 anxious to have it understood that Dick was at the head 
 of affairs as much in Dorset-square as at the Gallery, or at 
 his editorial office in Fleet Street. She was a rosy, pleasant, 
 frank hostess, Mrs. Chetwynd. Hawthorne, who spoke 
 of English women as beefy, would probably have noted in 
 her an absence of what might be termed the dainty 
 spiritiielle side of the feminine character which is very 
 attractive to some men , but she was a type of that 
 English womanhood which has given to the English char- 
 acter, in all ages, its energy, its muscle, its open fearless 
 features, and its national dignity. She was the picture of 
 a refined Rubens. She had the rounded limbs, but they 
 were firm and shapely ; she had the blonde face, but it 
 was neither fat nor thin ; the fair hair ; but she had the 
 mouth and eyes of an intellectual as well as a beautiful 
 English woman ; and Dick's friends noticed that she con- 
 tinually grew more'and more like her husband, the result 
 of perfect unity of sympathy and a sincere and abiding 
 love. 
 
 " The moment she came into the Gallery to-day," said 
 
154 ^y ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 Dick, telling his wife and Philip how he had met the Coun- 
 tess Stravensky, '' I was struck with her appearance ; so 
 sad yet so beautiful ; and thought of the face in the sketch. 
 She was attended by an Italian Jew, one Andrea Ferrari, 
 who is said to be her private secretary ; he seems to be 
 both footman and secretary, man-of-all-work to her ; a 
 curious, wiry, active, though watchful little chap, just the 
 sort of person one could imagine as the agent of a revolu- 
 tionary conspiracy ; a firm, thin mouth, shaggy eyebrows, 
 a low but compact forehead, black hair with streaks of 
 white in it, all nerves and muscles, and with two ferret-like 
 eyes deep set in his head. And somehow it was not only, 
 the countess' appearance that brought the woman of the 
 opera to my mind, but Ferrari ; for he seemed to me, at 
 once, to belong to the situation, and I added him mentally 
 to the Siberian group. Very odd all this ; but life is odd, 
 eh? Don't pass that sherry, Philip, it is the purest 
 Amontillado and it positively helps the soup ; ask Agnes." 
 
 Mrs. Chetwynd was Agnes, and she at once endorsed 
 her husband's recommendation of the sherry. Philip 
 allowed his glass to be filled, but made no reply to Dick's 
 remark, by the way, dropped in really for the purpose of 
 helping Philip to take the subject of the woman of the 
 opera as nearly like ordinary conversation as possible. 
 
 " But she is a Russian countess ? " said Philip. 
 
 " Yes, that's the trouble — I mean that is the difficulty 
 about getting her to sit. Her secretary handed me a spe- 
 cial note of introduction, from an old friend of mine con- 
 nected with continental journalism, and I made a point of 
 talking to her and to him. She made a romantic marriage, 
 it seems, in Moscow, to the dying Count Stravensky — one 
 of the most devoted of the Czar's nobles, whose patriotism 
 had been greatly tried, who had indeed suffered persecu- 
 tion at the hands of the Czar, and still remained faithful \ 
 and as if to make up for the dead man, the Czar has since 
 
BY Order of the czar. is^ 
 
 shown much favor to his widow, who is now travelling for 
 her health." 
 
 '' And you think her beautiful ? " asked Philip. 
 
 " She is your picture, and as sombre in expression, until 
 you rouse her interest; then her eyes — they are of a rich 
 violet — light up, and her smile is simply divine." 
 
 " And you will find the chicken not to be despised/' 
 remarked Mrs. Chetwynd, " if you will allow me to sug- 
 gest anything so mundane ; the Surrey chicken ought to 
 be canonized in the cook's calendar." 
 
 *^ Yes ; don't let the countess take away your appetite ; 
 and here's to the gold medal ! " 
 
 Dick nodded to his guest over a glass of champagne, and 
 Mrs. Chetwynd said : " But you did not tell me why I am 
 to have the honor of this paragon of beauty's presence to- 
 night without a formal invitation ? " 
 
 " She informed me that she expects to leave London to- 
 morrow or on the next day," said Dick, '* and may not 
 return ; which emboldened me to say how much I regretted 
 you had not had the pleasure of meeting her, in order that 
 you might have invited the honor of her company at your 
 ' at home ' to-night, and so on. Then I told her all about 
 Philip and his picture ; how it had been inspired ; inti- 
 mating with a poetic and mysterious touch that I believed 
 you had dreamed you had seen her at the opera, and how 
 you had tried to suggest such a face as hers in the very last 
 position possible, and that you were searching London 
 for the face you vowed you had seen, in order to ask the 
 owner to sit for your picture. She seemed more interested 
 in what I said than she cared to exhibit. I thought she 
 winced, and that a shade of Color spread over her pale, 
 handsome face when I mentioned your having seen her at 
 the opera. She turned and spoke to her secretary, who, 
 while she appeared to talk quite familiarly with him, 
 treated her with the greatest deference, if not with slavish 
 
156 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 humility. ' You interest me in your friend,' she said, in 
 a voice that was soft and musical. ' Since that was my 
 object,' I said, ' I am very glad to hear you say so. You 
 are an artist yourself, perhaps ? ' * No, I love art,' she 
 replied, * I have lived in Italy and France.' ' Then you 
 would not be offended if I say that if you had been going 
 to stay in London for any length of time I would have 
 petitioned you to sit to my young friend.' " 
 
 '* You are very kind, Dick," exclaimed Philip, " and 
 you have a lot more courage than I have ! " 
 
 " You are not a journalist with ten years of experience 
 as a war correspondent," said Mr. Chetwynd. 
 
 " I would not like to ask the countess anything at 
 which she might take offence," said Dick. '' There is 
 sorrow in her eye, and softness in her voice, but there is 
 the devil there also. And mark me, Philip, you are right 
 in thinking there is a remarkable history behind that 
 face. 
 
 " How do you mean, Dick ? " Philip asked. 
 
 " I mean that it appealed to you as a face that had seen 
 a world of persecution and trouble. You have more than 
 hinted at a woman who has suffered and will be revenged. 
 Your artistic instinct is right, I believe." 
 
 " But do you really think she is the woman I saw ? " 
 
 " I know she is." 
 
 *'How?" 
 
 *' By your portrait, and from her anxiety to see you." 
 
 '* Her anxiety to see me ! " exclaimed Philip, the blood 
 rushing to his temples. 
 
 '* Don't blush, Philip— I mean do," said Dick, "Hike 
 to see a young fellow blush ; I sometimes wish I could. 
 When I had fired that shot, about you having seen a face 
 at the opera which you had gone home and put into a pic- 
 ture of a tragic character, she tried to disguise her interest, 
 I had almost said her alarm ; and she smiled sweetly, but 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 157 
 
 with an effort, when I told her your name and spoke of 
 your mother j she knew your mother's name, and her 
 private secretary or guardian, or official executioner or 
 whatever he may be, said Lady Forsyth was well known 
 in Russia. ' She is a rebel,' I said smiling, ' as much a 
 rebel possibly against Queen Victoria as she is against the 
 Czar, so you must forgive her; and besides we play with 
 revolution in England, toy with Socialism and so on, just 
 as we do with aestheticism and private theatricals.' ' Yes,' 
 she said inquiringly, and inviting me to go on. ' And the 
 young artist I am speaking of was born in Russia, and of 
 course he will take the sentimental and romantic side of 
 Russian politics.' * Then his picture is political ? ' she said, 
 with a strong note of interrogation. ' More or less,' I 
 said; *it is a fanciful sketch at present of the road to 
 Siberia, and — don't smile — and pray do not be angry — its 
 central figure is very much like your ladyship.' She 
 started at this, and said as if amused, * You alarm me, Mr. 
 Chetwynd ; if we were in Russia, and you talked to me in 
 this way, I should suspect you were an officer in disguise, 
 and that you had a file of soldiers at the door.' The secretary 
 stood by and watched me closely. I felt his little ferret 
 eyes upon me, though every time I looked up he was appa- 
 rently ga;«ing upon Holman Hunt's ' Scapegoat,' and I 
 wondered afterwards if it suggested to him anything beyond 
 its realistic ugliness. She had taken a seat beneath one of 
 the palms in the Western room of the Gallery, and the 
 more I talked to her. the more she invited me to go on — 
 that is, she listened with attention and made an encour- 
 aging remark now and then. I told her that my wife took a 
 deep interest in your career. She said she would have 
 liked to meet my wife ; I said my wife had a reception to- 
 night, and that you would be coming to us, and if she 
 would deign to accept so late and informal an invitation, 
 how much honored we all should be. She said at once she 
 
158 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 would, and before the day was over, in response to a tele- 
 gram, Agnes had called and left cards, and this morning we 
 had her ladyship's acceptance ; and here is her letter ; a 
 firm, sharp hand, is it not ? " 
 
 Dick handed the letter to Philip, who looked earnestly 
 at it, and returned it. 
 
 " Yes, what I should call a fine, cultured hand, rather 
 pointed in style ; but a noble signature." 
 
 " You seem to be both worshippers at this Russian 
 shrine," said Mrs. Chetwynd, " I hope I shall not be dis- 
 appointed. Now you are going to smoke, so I shall leave 
 you ; we will meet again, Mr. Forsyth, in the drawing-room 
 at ten, and later I will tell you what I think of Madame la 
 Russe." 
 
 Philip opened the library door for the hostess, who 
 passed out with a bow and a smile, and presently he and 
 Dick over cigars and coffee continued to discuss the Coun- 
 tess Stravensky. 
 
 '* How old do you think she is ? " asked the artist. 
 
 " Thirty or more," said Dick, " and a widow. Not too 
 old to make a certain young lady jealous." 
 
 " Do you think she will sit for me ? " Philip asked, dis- 
 regarding Dick's badinage. 
 
 " Not if she is leaving London to-morrow." 
 
 *' You think she is going away .?" 
 
 " No, I don't." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because she spoke of leaving town as if she were in 
 doubt about it ; and when a woman is in doubt she does 
 not do what she says she thinks she will." 
 
 " If she sat for me of course I need not show her my 
 sketch." 
 
 '' Why not ? " 
 
 " Because she would be entirely out of sympathy with it. 
 It would be like asking Lady Salisbury to sit for the 
 heroine of an Irish eviction." 
 
JBY ORDER OF THE CZAR. X59 
 
 ^* Who knows. She may be favorable to the young 
 Russian party." 
 
 '* What, as the widow of a Russian nobleman, devoted 
 to the Czar ? " 
 
 " The possibility I suggest is, of course, very remote ; 
 but her secretary, Signor Andrea Ferrari, who is evidently 
 her right hand, looks anything but the character of a Rus- 
 sian loyalist ; moreover he is a Jew, and furthermore he is 
 an Italian Jew." 
 
 " Might it be possible that he is in the pay of the Russian 
 Government ? " 
 
 "• It might ; anything is possible," Dick replied, " but I 
 thought a passing glimmer of satisfaction passed over his 
 otherwise Sphinx-like face when I said your mother was a 
 rebel. Anyhow they are a strange couple ; and the lady 
 is a wonderfully fascinating and lovely woman. Why she 
 should be peering about irf Lady Marchmount's box, as 
 you seem to have seen her, is an odd thing, the more so 
 that in the opposite box, or at least the one nearly oppo- 
 site, was a distinguished Russian party ; one would think 
 that the Countess Stravensky would have known her com- 
 patriots, and would have visited them or they her ! " 
 
 " Yes," said Philip in a thoughtful way ; " and what is 
 equally strange is that Lady Marchmount says she was not 
 in her box." 
 
 ''True; you had not got into an unhealthy state of 
 mind over your work and fancied you saw her, eh ? " 
 
 ** No, and I cannot help thinking she had some secret 
 curiosity to satisfy in regard to that Russian General 
 Petronovitch and his bride. When I thought of the inci- 
 dent later I wondered if she were afraid they might see 
 her ; whether the bride might have been a rival ; or if she 
 wished to recall the appearance of some person in that box 
 whom she had not seen perhaps for a long time. Lady 
 Marchmount was, to my thinking, telling a diplomatic lie 
 when she said no one had been into her box." 
 
l6o BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 " But you did not see her speak to Lady Marchmount? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Therefore, it would be in keeping with the mystery 
 you have managed to surround what after all is not extra- 
 ordinary incident, if the countess, walking along the corri- 
 dor, had mistaken Lady Marchraount's box for her own ; 
 or finding the door open had looked in and availed herself 
 of the opportunity, from behind the curtain, to take a 
 glance at the Russian box." 
 
 " I can't say," Philip replied, '* but nobody except my- 
 self seems to have seen her in the theatre j that's the 
 puzzle ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 "a kind of MONTE CHRISTO IN PETTICOATS." 
 
 Mrs. Chetwynd's reception began at half-past nine. At 
 ten o'clock there was a fair sprinkling of arrivals. The 
 people who meant to get away early, or who had other 
 places to go during the night, came with something like 
 punctuality. But the lady's intimate friends and the lions 
 of the night did not begin to arrive until eleven, and some 
 of them came after the opera and the theatres. 
 
 Dick and his candidate for the gold medal went into the 
 drawing-room at ten o'clock, and found pleasant opportu- 
 nities of assisting the hostess to entertain her guests. 
 Among the early arrivals was Phirs..mother, Lady Forsyth, 
 who was attired in soft black silk, with handsome jewellery 
 of diamonds and emeralds, among her finest ornaments 
 being her favorite four-leaved shamrock, in gold enamel 
 and emeralds, and an Irish harp for a brooch. She was 
 still a handsome woman, though her hair was almost white, 
 and the roses had long since faded from her cheeks. She 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. i6l 
 
 entered the room at about the same time as Lady March- 
 mount, whose husband was one of the Radical leaders, and 
 had, under Mr. Gladstone, fulfilled semi-official missions 
 both to Rome and Russia ; her ladyship posed somewhat 
 as a political wire-puller on her own account, and delighted 
 to be considered as in the secrets of foreign Governments. 
 She found a pleasant occupation in patronizing the Irish 
 party, and holding out a friendly hand to Lady Forsyth. 
 
 *' Mrs. Chetwynd tells me that she expects the Countess 
 Stravensky," said Lady Marchmount to Lady Forsyth, 
 when, after receiving the homage of some lesser lights, 
 they found themselves pretending to listen to a brilliant 
 pianoforte fantasia in one of Mrs. Chetwynd's most com- 
 fortable seats. 
 
 " Indeed ? " was Lady Forsyth's reply. 
 
 " A remarkable woman, who only arrived in town a 
 week ago. I hope to see her before the night is over at the 
 Russian Embassy." 
 
 '* Remarkable in what way ? " asked Philip's mother. 
 
 ** She made a death-bed marriage, the story of which was 
 told the other day in the Gaulois. A lady of no family in 
 particular, poor but clever, a widow of a young and learned 
 Jew j the Count Stravensky, a very wealthy Russian noble- 
 man, met her in France, old enough to be her grandfather, 
 fell in love with her and obtained the Czar's permission to 
 marry her. He had rendered the Government great ser- 
 vices both civil and military, was taken ill in Paris and 
 they were married two hours before he died ; she took his 
 body to Russia, saw it ceremoniously buried in the church 
 of Vilnavitch or some such place — I forget the name — en- 
 tered into possession of his vast estates, sold them, left 
 Russia, and consoled herself for her double matrimonial 
 disappointment by traveling from place to place, enter- 
 taining herself with acts of charity, especially in the inter- 
 ests of the Jews, actually went and Uved in the ghetto at 
 
 11 
 
i62 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 Venice three years ago — think of it ! — and, in spite of the 
 Russian persecution of the chosen people, is said to be 
 hand and glove with the Russian Government in its fight 
 with the Nihilists — a curious story, is it not? " 
 
 " Very ! " said Lady Forsyth ; "an eccentric evidently 
 — some women find delight in compelling the world to talk 
 about them." 
 
 " You have only to be very rich, a widow, handsome, 
 and affecting a mission, to have all the world that is worth 
 knowing interested in you," responded Lady Marchmount. 
 "The Countess Stravensky is a woman to know." 
 
 •' A kind of Monte Christo in petticoats," suggested 
 Lady Forsyth ; and as she said so Philip came up, and 
 Lady Marchmount moved away. 
 
 '* She is coming here to-night, mother," he said. 
 
 " And who is * she ' when she comes — Dolly ? " asked his 
 mother, making room for him to sit by her side. 
 
 " No ; the lady I saw at the opera whose face I sug- 
 gested in the medal sketch. Chetwynd assures me it is the 
 very woman." 
 
 " Then I believe I can guess who she is," said his mother ; 
 " Lady Marchmount has been telling me about her." 
 
 "Yes?" said Philip. " Lady Marchmount knows her 
 then ? " 
 
 " If it is the Countess Stravensky, who has been married 
 twice and widowed with curious promptitude — in the case 
 of one husband, at all events " 
 
 Before she could finish the sentence, both mother and 
 son yielded to the same impulse to look towards the door 
 at the announcement (which then immediately followed 
 the close of that little-noticed fantasia) of the Countess 
 Stravensky. 
 
 Mrs. Chetwynd went forward and received the lady with 
 unusual empressement. The countess responded with 
 graceful informality, almost interrupting Mrs. Chetwynd's 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 163 
 
 society bow by extending her hand to be shaken, and at 
 the same time addressing some pleasant word of thanks 
 for being permitted to accept Mrs. Chetwynd's invitation 
 so unceremoniously. The next moment she was speaking 
 with Dick, all unconscious of the admiration she was call- 
 ing forth on all hands. 
 
 She wore a long, trailing Empire dress of straw-colored 
 silk, covered with crape of the same dainty hue, trimmed 
 with garlands of golden laburnum, that seemed to accent- 
 uate the rich gold of her hair, at the same time deadening 
 the paleness of her cheeks and giving death to the violet 
 of her eyes. Her jewellery consisted of the topaz and the 
 diamond exquisitely blended. In harmony with her cos- 
 tume, her hair was dressed in the Empire fashion, giving 
 an added height to her imposing figure ; her tresses were 
 held up, as it seemed, by one magnificent pin of topaz, set 
 in a shimmering halo of diamonds. Long gloves draped 
 her arms, she carried a yellow-ostrich-feather fan, and from 
 one arm depended a crape shawl, the fringe of which swept 
 the floor with her train. Upon her left wrist was an an- 
 cient Arabian amulet composed of topaz, through which in 
 Arabic was bored in curious stars the word "Vengeance." 
 Mr. Chetwynd's guests only saw the sombre yellow bangle \ 
 they httle dreamed of the great, solemn, terrible oath that 
 had been sworn upon it. 
 
 The countess was no otner than our Queen of the Ghetto, 
 poor Anna Klosstock. The reader will know how to cor- 
 rect some of the information which Lady Marchmount gave 
 to Lady Forsyth. Though it was not quite unexpected, 
 the marriage with the Count Stravensky will be new to 
 them. In regard to the details of that interesting and ro- 
 mantic union, it is possible we may hear the story from the 
 lips of Andrea Ferrari, or from the mouth of the countess 
 herself. Meanwhile the reader's interest especially at the 
 moment will be with Philip Forsyth, who, sitting with his 
 
164 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 mother within the shadow of the window-seat, had noted 
 the beautiful image that had inspired his tragic picture, 
 though now and then it seemed to him as if there were a 
 world of comedy also in the lady's smile ; but the young 
 artist was not sufficiently experienced in the dramas of 
 real life to be well acquainted with the acting that is often 
 more intense on the real than on the mimic stage. The 
 countess had a part to play, and she played it to perfection 
 when the audience was in evidence. When she was alone 
 with her Fate there were even times when she tried to forget 
 herself, or only to remember those happy early days of Czar- 
 ovna, the awful eclipse of which the reader has a mel?ncholy 
 knowledge. Phil noted her pale fair face, her soft violet 
 eyes, her wealth of deep-red hair, her grace, her imposing 
 figure, her distinguished manner ; but never once did he find 
 a suggestion of the sad, somewhat weird look in her eyes, 
 until he had talked with her, as he did presently, after 
 Mrs. Ghetwynd had brought him where she was sitting 
 beneath a cluster of tall palms, near the great open ingle 
 nook which Mrs. Ghetwynd had constructed in her drawing 
 room in defiance of many rules of art, but with singularly 
 picturesque effect. 
 
 " Mr. Ghetwynd has told me of your picture," she said, 
 in a rich musical voice, and with an accent of a somewhat 
 composite character, neither French nor German, but with 
 a touch of both, and perhaps also a suggestion of Rus- 
 sian. "Your picture interests me." 
 
 "You are very kind to say so." 
 
 " I say so, not simply to be kind, but for the truth that 
 it is so." 
 
 '•' I fear my friend has exaggerated its merits," said 
 Philip, beginning to feel at his ease after the first flutter of 
 nervousness and admiration. 
 
 " It is of the subject that I am also interested ; it has 
 the merit, that of sympathy. You were born in Rusriia ? " 
 
^V ORDER OF THE CZAR, 165 
 
 ** Yes," said Philip. " I was partly educated in Mos- 
 cow." 
 
 " Ana perhaps it is that you saw some of the exiles on 
 their long journey ; their sufferings touched your heart, 
 you were so young. Is it not so ? " 
 
 " It is not necessary to be young, madame, to feel sorry 
 for the wretched." 
 
 ** Ah, you say well ; you have a good nature, and I would 
 I might be your friend, but I was the friend and more of 
 one of whom your face reminds me. But my friendship 
 does not make good for those I love," and Philip saw that 
 sad look of the theatre come into the expressive eyes and 
 harden the mouth for a moment, to give way to a softer 
 look and a more tender tone of voice ; and he was right in 
 his observation ; for the moment the countess saw Philip 
 Forsyth, she said to herself, " That young man has the 
 eyes and the expression in them of my beloved Losinski, 
 and the same tender heart ; it is strange that I should have 
 been interested in him before I saw him." As she spoke to 
 Philip there seemed to be tones in his voice that reminded 
 her of Losinski, and with the memory there came the sha- 
 dow of Petronovitch and the knout ; but with a great effort 
 she kept to the softer side of the memory, and she talked 
 with Philip as she had never talked to human being since 
 the tragedy, from which she emerged not only alive but 
 with a strange power and a strange beauty. 
 
 Philip felt the magic influence of her sudden awakening 
 to human sympathy. For ten years she had not until now 
 felt one throb of human feeling that had not been accom- 
 panied with a pang of hatred, revenge, and revolt at the 
 world and everything in it. Her charities had been as 
 much in the way of protest and revenge as any other action 
 of her life. She had lain next door to death for twelve 
 months in the Czarovna hospital, half the first months of 
 the time in terror of mind and body indescribable. When 
 
i66 J^V ORDER OF THE CZA^\ 
 
 she was sufficiently recovered for removal, the new Go- 
 vernor, succeeding Petronovitch, who was promoted for 
 his patriotic quelling of the riotous Jews, found means to 
 comply with the wishes of the Count Stravensky, and 
 Anna Klosstock found friends in France, friends and fellow 
 sufferers, friends and agents of the propaganda, friends 
 and work ; disappearing for five years, losing all identity 
 with Anna Klosstock, she made an entry into Parisian life 
 that was more or less distinguished, and soon afterwards 
 married the Count Stravensky — his last act of enmity to- 
 wards the Government of the Czar. 
 
 " And if I am a friend of the great Czar, our Russian 
 Father, I can still feel for those who suffer," said the coun- 
 tess to Philip ; " it is not that we must be of what is called 
 the young Russian party to be sorry for the exile, the 
 prisoner, the miserable, and those who give their liberty 
 and life for a cause, or for a sentiment ; forme, suffering is 
 of no party, misery of no nationality. You interest me ; I 
 will go to your atelier and sit for that sad woman in your 
 picture. Mr. Chetwynd shall make a convenient arrange- 
 ment that shall be agreeable to you, and I will do myself 
 the honor to make a call upon your mother. Till then, 
 adieu ! " 
 
 When the countess' carriage was called, it had already 
 an occupant. Andrea Ferrari stepped out, gave his hand 
 to madame, and closed the door upon her. The lookers 
 on saw him address the lady as if.for instructions. What 
 he said was rather in the way of giving orders. *' Petro- 
 novitch and his wife left London for Paris by the mail. 
 We are in good time for the Reception at the Embassy ; 
 We shall drive thither? " 
 
 The countess bowed her acquiescence, the Italian took a 
 seat on the box, the carriage drove rapidly away, and the 
 countess soon afterwards, between the elaborate courses of 
 an elaborate Anglo-Russian supper, listened to an English 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR, 167 
 
 duke's assurances of sympathy with the Czar and his 
 Government. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 FACE TO FACE. 
 
 A MONTH of Strange atmospheric vagaries — the month of 
 April in the English Metropolis — a month of sun and 
 shade, of calm and storm, of east winds and southern 
 breezes, of rain and sleet, of cruel chills and softened 
 tenderness ; and all the while a month of budding blos- 
 soms, of waving leaves and scented sweetbriar ; a month, 
 so to speak, of ups and downs, like a man's life. It 
 lacked, perhaps, the violent contrasts, nevertheless, of the 
 career of the Countess Stravensky, who, despite the blast- 
 ing cyclone of ill-fortune, stood when all was over like a 
 poplar that had been able to defy the storm, but stood all 
 alone, with tlie forest torn and ragged and uprooted around 
 it. 
 
 When Philip Forsyth, the morning after Mrs. Chetwynd's 
 reception, walked from Govver Street to his studio beyond 
 Primrose Hill to receive his new and strangely fascinating 
 sitter, London was a summer city, though it was still only 
 April, and there had been a fall of snow and a hailstorm 
 in the preceding week. Regent's Park was radiant with 
 a sunshine that had in it the warmth of June with the 
 freshness of the most genial of Spring days, and there 
 were pleasant shadows in it from the trail of morning 
 clouds, and the air was full of the perfume of flowers. 
 The brown tanned beds in the broad walk were gay with 
 budding hyacinths, and the fountain was making music in its 
 granite basin. The chestnuts were full of white promise 
 of early bloom, and the leaves were as fresh and green as 
 
1 68 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 if they were the new-bom leaves of some remote wood 
 far away from city smoke and fog. The first swallows of 
 the year twittered as they floated overhead, and blackbirds 
 were making late breakfasts upon the green sward which 
 they investigated with hurried and flashing beaks. 
 
 Philip in a dull kind of way was conscious of all this : 
 it came as an accompaniment to his thoughts of other 
 things, more particularly to his meeting with the Countess 
 Stravensky, and to the object of his early and delightful 
 walk to his studio. He went swinging along through the 
 Park and out into Albert Road, quite in the spirit of the 
 time. He recalled in a dreamy fashion, that was, however, 
 somewhat out of harmony with it, every word and every 
 look of the mysterious beautiful woman of Mrs. Chetwynd's 
 reception. He saw her eyes looking into his with tender 
 interest, he heard her say she might be his friend. The 
 soft tone of her voice when she said she was interested 
 in him came back to him. He comprehended in one long 
 reflection the memory of her 'lovely form, her red-gold 
 hair, her becoming dress, her distinguished manner, the 
 fascinating melancholy of her face when it was in repose, 
 the depth of her eloquent eyes when she turned their violet 
 light upon his. He might have been walking on air every 
 now then, so unconscious was he of his surroundings, 
 and yet he found the influence of the buds and blossoms, 
 the wooing breeze, the perfume of flowers, and the drowsy 
 plash of the first water cart of the season, that laid the 
 dust after the first swallow had skimmed along the road, 
 not in very wantonness of the gaiety and pleasures of life, 
 as the poets think, but as earnestly bent upon the practical 
 sustenance thereof as the blackbirds in the park. 
 
 The aspiring artist did not pause to ask himself what 
 sort of absorbed interest this was he was taking in the 
 Countess Stravensky : whether it was the absorption of the 
 painter in a great subject, or the pulsations of the romantic 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR, 169 
 
 passion of an impulsive young man. It was quite certain 
 that for the time being the beautiful foreign lady had 
 occupied a place in his thoughts which should have been 
 alone occupied by Dolly Norcott, to whom only two days 
 before he had become engaged. 
 
 This fact was recalled to him by the Countess Stravensky 
 herself within an hour of the time when he was walking more 
 or less on air, as we have seen, to his studio beyond Prim- 
 rose Hill, for the condescending model arrived punctually 
 to the time which she had fixed with Philip's mother on the 
 preceding night. He had had the place specially prepared 
 to receive her, and she had come quietly attired, as if in 
 sympathy with his subject. 
 
 It was eleven o'clock when she passed through the por- , 
 ter's gate. Her single brougham stood outside with one 
 servant on the box. On the pavement was a gentleman in 
 waiting — a foreigner who strolled about the neighborhood 
 enjoying the fresh spring morning, and a cigar strong 
 enough to have thrown an ordinary smoker into a narcotic 
 fever. 
 
 Philip received his visitor with a calm sense of triumph. 
 She wore a grey soft cape, which she laid aside almost as 
 soon as she entered the studio. 
 
 " It is very kind of you to come," said Philip, not at- 
 tempting to disguise his pleasure. 
 
 '*^Kind of you to ask me to do so — and Mr. Chetwynd 
 made such a point of it ! " she said, with her fascinating 
 foreign accent. "What a charming hostess — Mrs. Chet- 
 wynd ! Sorry I could not remain as long as I could have 
 wished; but there was a prior engagement, which duty 
 required I should observe, at the Russian Embassy; it 
 was a ball, and I had the satisfaction of arrriving for the 
 the little supper, as they so call it, and I was escorted by 
 one of your great ministers ; a friend, so he said, of Russia. 
 Ah, thank you, they are lovely ! " 
 
t7d BV ORDER OP THE CZAR, 
 
 This in response to a bouquet of lilies of the valley which 
 Philip offered to his visitor, as he invited her to take a 
 seat upon the sitter's platform. 
 
 " You are business-like, you do not forget that my time 
 is much occupied ; but I am to sit in character, is it not 
 so?" 
 
 He thought her voice wonderfully sweet, her foreign 
 accent giving to the tone of it an added charm. 
 
 ** I wish I had designed for you a subject in which the 
 study should have been one of beauty and happiness 
 instead of beauty in misery and despair. But may I not 
 first sketch you as you are ? " 
 
 Whether it was that the countess desired to check the 
 
 , exuberance of PhiHp's frank admiration of her, or that the 
 
 question arose out of a real interest in his welfare, she 
 
 suddenly forced him back upon the duty he owed to Dolly 
 
 Norcott. 
 
 *' Your mother tells me you are engaged to be married." 
 
 "■ Indeed ! " he said. 
 
 " And when are you to be married? " 
 
 " I do not know," he said. 
 
 ** The happy day — have you not already marked it with 
 white in your calendar of bliss ? " 
 
 " No," he said, busy with his brushes and his easel. 
 
 " You do not care to talk about the betrothal. Is it so ?" 
 
 " I care most to hear you talk," he replied, his dark 
 eyes turning towards her. 
 
 " That is a trick of the painter, eh ? He thus will get 
 the expression of his sitter's face. Well, it depends what 
 the expression is to be. But am I not to see what you 
 have already desired it should be ? Mr. Chetwynd was 
 concerned with the thought that I might be displeased at 
 your painted opinion -of the miseries inflicted by my 
 country on the exile and the prisoner ! Not at all. That 
 I sympathize with you in this, brings me here," 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 17I 
 
 *' Mr. Chetwynd/' Philip replied, ** overrates my sketch, 
 but since your ladyship wishes to see it, it is here." 
 
 He wheeled towards her chair an easel upon which he 
 lifted the sketch we have already seen. He did so in a 
 somewhat perfunctory manner, for he had found some of 
 his enthusiasm for the countess evaporate at her mention 
 of his engagement. Not that it had set him thinking more 
 of Dolly, as a lover should, but it had appeared in his 
 mental groping to have projected a shadow between him 
 and the delirious pleasure of having the countess all 
 alone to paint, and at the same time to study — to worship 
 perhaps — for he had encouraged an indefinite kind of anti- 
 cipation in regard to this visit in which art was not the 
 only factor, and almost the first words of his sitter appeared 
 to him to have set up a barrier against the romance of it. 
 
 The countess rose from her seat, stepped down from 
 the platform, and gazed at the medal sketch. The light fell 
 effectively upon picture and reality. Philip noted the fair, 
 round figure of the woman, simply clad in a pale silk gown 
 draped to her figure, her red-gold hair dressed high as on 
 the night before, her bonnet designed as if to set off rather 
 than liide it, her pale face, with the dark lashes of her eyes 
 shadowed upon her cheeks, her entire appearance singu- 
 larly graceful and queenlike. 
 
 " And you think this woman like me ! " she said, after 
 standing before the picture as it seemed to Philip for quite 
 five minutes. 
 
 " Chetwynd thought it like you." 
 
 " Chetwynd did ? " she said, still looking at the sketch. 
 
 " Indeed he recognized you from this clumsy description 
 of you." 
 
 "Not clumsy but remarkable," she replied. *'You 
 painted it after seeing me at the opera ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " What if I have not been at the opera ? " 
 
172 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 " Then I have dreamed it," said Philip. 
 
 '' It reminds me of a girl I once knew years ago," she 
 said. 
 
 *' I did not wish to show it you : I felt it was a Hbel on 
 you." 
 
 " It is beautiful," she replied, now looking at him, and 
 with a sad expression in her eyes. 
 
 '* It shall be, if you give me the opportunity to study 
 the original." 
 
 " I suppose you have in your mind a story for your pic- 
 ture. It is called Tragedy, your mother tells me." 
 
 Philip wished that his mother had not said so much to the 
 countess ; but he only replied that it was the subject for 
 the Academy gold medal. 
 
 " And in your mind the tragedy is the situation of that 
 young man who is to die in the arms of the woman — in 
 mine, eh, Mr. Forsyth ? I am to be the poor creature who 
 extends her arms with all her good kind suffering heart in 
 her pale face to the poor dying student — is that so? " 
 
 " And the general group ; the old man is an incident of 
 the tragedy. The spirit of the subject also lies not alone 
 in the fact pourtrayed, but the idea of the road to Siberia." 
 
 " Yes, yes — do not be afraid to say all you may think 
 or feel of that, the most enormous of all tragedies it is true ; 
 but there is worse than Siberia — there are perils worse than 
 the road to it and the arrival. Perhaps in your picture the 
 young man is her lover ; ah, my friend, to have been his 
 companion in exile would have been bliss to that young 
 girl whom the face recalls to me; her love was so great 
 Siberia would have been heaven with him. Do you ever 
 think of all the horrors of the Inferno of Dante ? They 
 are as nothing compared with the fate of that young girl 
 whom I knew in a Russian village long ago. But, my dear 
 Philip, why ask me, who am rich and happy and of the 
 noblessCj to sit for this poor mad creature ? " 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 173 
 
 Philip's heart stood still for a moment when she called 
 him her * dear Philip,' and then began to beat fast and 
 furious. 
 
 ** That is why I did not wish you to see it," he said, his 
 face aflame, his tongue running on at a rapid rate. *' You, 
 who are so beautiful ; you who should rather sit for a 
 Queen of Beauty — a goddess for men to worship and 
 women to admire — for Arthur's Queen, or Cleopatra. And 
 in that there would also be tragedy, but the tragedy of the 
 poet, not the vulgar tragedy of a troop of prisoners. Let 
 me blot the libel out." 
 
 He advanced towards the sketch, as if he would have 
 carried out his suggested threat. She laid her hand upon 
 his arm, and he thrilled at the touch. 
 
 " Not so, dear friend," she said ; ** it is a compliment 
 to me that you can think of me as pathetically as that," 
 and she pointed to the picture. " Ah ! if you only knew ! 
 And she was beautiful, that girl I am thinking about ; but 
 Siberia was too good for her ; she was of the cursed race 
 of the Jew, and they called her Queen of the Ghetto in the 
 place where she lived in innocence, and was engaged as 
 you are, and more, with the day fixed for the wedding, and 
 the year of betrothal at an end ; and she, be sure, marked 
 it in the calendar, and he her betrothed. You are in the 
 right — it is tragic, this picture of yours ! It has also enough 
 of sorrow in that one incident of the woman or her lover to 
 call it tragedy — and perhaps the old man might be her 
 father, eh ? Was that in your thought ? " 
 
 While she spoke she removed her bonnet, and drew her 
 hair about her head as suggested in the picture, as Philip 
 had seen it at the Opera, and she took her seat, and he 
 followed her, palette in hand. 
 
 "■ There, my friend, go on with your study ; it is not the 
 first of the times I have sat for the artist. I can make that 
 expression, perhaps, for you; I try to look back to the 
 poor girl I tell you of. There ! " 
 
174 ^y ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 The mouth fell into an expression of despair^ and the 
 eyes looked up with a tearful idea of pain in them ; the hair 
 fell around the pale beautiful features. Philip gazed but 
 did not paint. 
 
 " Why do you pause ? — will you not have me for your 
 model ? Do I not act well ? " 
 
 Then she arose from the crouching attitude she had 
 assumed and laughed almost hysterically. 
 
 *' You cannot realize that I who am so gay and rich and 
 so high-born should act such a part as the miserable wo- 
 man of the prison — the lash perhaps. Well, you are right — 
 do not alter the picture ; it has all the spirit of the misery 
 of persecution — outrage, the rod, the lash ; you have felt 
 it in your heart j I am glad I have seen what you feel ; 
 but go seek the wretched, not the happy such as I for your 
 model ! " 
 
 She was putting on her bonnet. 
 
 " But you are not going ? " exclaimed the artist. 
 
 " Why not ? " she said ; " you will not paint me. You 
 do not think I can be of use in your picture ! " 
 
 ** Forgive me, " he said, " you have perplexed me ; I 
 was not prepared for so wonderful a realization of the 
 woman I saw at the Opera — the face I have tried to 
 paint." 
 
 " Some other day, then," she said, " when we are both 
 less embarrassed. I have other engagements — a luncheon, 
 dinner, a dance — and I must get up my Society spirits, eh ? 
 It is not for me to think of such sorrowful things." 
 
 She comprehended in a long sweeping action of her arm 
 Philip's entire sketch.- 
 
 " You are angry with me," said Philip. 
 
 *' No, no," she said, " I am never angry ; despair is not 
 anger ; revenge is not anger ; longing is not anger. Ah ! 
 I see I bewilder you ! Thank you." 
 
 She had pointed to her cape ; Philip assisted her to put 
 it on. 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 175 
 
 " You have excited into action some old memories," she 
 said, " and you have a strange resemblance to that poor 
 girl's lover ; he had marked the day as I tell you with a 
 white stone, and its sun set in blood ; you are not so en- 
 grossed with the betrothal of your love. It is well ; I 
 admire your English sangfroid; it is the reason why you 
 are great ; you can look love and destiny, victory and 
 defeat, heaven and hell in the eye straight, and you do not 
 flinch. Indeed you are a great people ! " 
 
 " Ah ! madame, for some reason you mock me," said 
 Philip. " I have offended you ; if I dared say all I think 
 and feel about you — the admiration you have inspired in 
 me, the ambition that lies beyond that mere daub you have 
 been good enough to praise, that boyish fancy, the weakness 
 of which since last night I see with the eyes of a man !" 
 
 " Another day," she said, interrupting. " Please ring 
 for my carriage ; and beHeve what I say when I tell you I 
 am not angry ; that I feel all you say deep in my heart ; 
 that you have awakened there sensations that have been 
 dead for years ; and if we do not meet again, let me beg of 
 you to finish that picture ; it will bring you fame ; I com- 
 mission it ; paint it for me ; it shall have the first place in 
 my gallery ; it shall have a home in my heart." She turned 
 as if to go; then with her eyes full upon him, she said, 
 quickly : " In my country there is the kiss of friendship 
 and there is the kiss of peace ; I give to you that salute, 
 and with me it is the kiss of a sweet memory that lasted 
 for a moment, to be lost in the shadow of a tragedy more* 
 terrible than that you have dreamed of in your art and in 
 your tender sympathies with the persecuted and distressed. 
 Adieu ! " 
 
 She kissed him on both cheeks and was gone out at the 
 open door before he could attend her. While the wheels 
 of her brougham rattled out at the portal of the court-yard 
 he stood in a heat of strange delightful surprise, looking 
 
176 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 amazed and bewildered at the open doorway where the 
 sun carae streaming in like a benediction. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 DOLLY IS DETERMINED TO BE HAPPY. 
 
 Philip had not seen Dolly since he had asked her to be 
 his wife : it seemed an age — it was only two days ago. 
 What an eventful two days ! To Dolly they had seemed 
 also a long time, but somewhat uneventful. Mrs. Milbanke 
 had not refrained from remarking that it was odd Philip 
 had not called the next day ; and on this morning of the 
 countess' visit to Philip's studio, she had expressed some 
 wonder as to Philip's health. 
 
 " He must be ill, my darling," said Jenny at breakfast, 
 after Walter had started for the city. '* It is Lady For- 
 syth's day, I will call ; you shall not go ; I will go alone ; 
 if he is ill we ought to have had the fact made known to 
 us ; if he is well his conduct must be explained. When I 
 was engaged to Walter every day that I did not see him I 
 had a letter from him." 
 
 '* He must be ill," said Dolly, taking up one of the last 
 remaining strawberries that had come up from Walter's 
 place in Gloucestershire. "Poor Sam would' have been 
 here every five minutes if he had been allowed." 
 
 *' You must not think what Sam would have done," said 
 Jenny. " It is not proper, and it is not wise. Why, I 
 declare it is twelve o'clock ! Walter is later for the city 
 every morning." 
 
 " It is all owing to my engagement," said Dolly ; " be- 
 fore it was settled he talked of nothing else, now it is set- 
 tled he finds it an equally absorbing topic, and one would 
 think our trip to Venice was ray honeymoon, he makes so 
 much of it." 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 177 
 
 " He is a dear, good fellow," Jenny replied : " lives for 
 everybody except himself, more particularly for you and 
 me, Dolly. You must not think to get as good and de- 
 voted a husband as Walter, but Philip Forsyth is far 
 cleverer, and he is famous, or will be, and one day you will 
 be Mrs. Forsyth, R.A., and perhaps Lady Forsyth — who 
 knows ? There is no end to the possible triumphs of the 
 wife of a great artist — and Philip will be great, Mr. Chet- 
 wynd says so ; and there is no» more severe critic and 
 perhaps none so influential — he is said to have been the 
 critical godfather of Burne Jones and Watts and Albert 
 Moore, and several others." 
 
 " But, my dear. Watts is old enough to be his father." 
 
 " I can't help that," Jenny replied, fastening a sprig of 
 white lilac in the bosom of her dress — the white lilac from 
 Walter's place in the country, a bunch of which had 
 adorned the breakfast table, making a sort of little bower 
 for the nest of plover's eggs which had formed part of the 
 menu, 
 
 " I suppose I ought to be very unhappy," Dolly re- 
 marked as her sister rose to leave the table, " and yet I am 
 not." 
 
 " You don't feel things as I did," said Jenny j " we live 
 in a more practical age, I suppose." 
 
 " Indeed, since when ? " asked Dolly. " You are not 
 old enough to be my mother, if Watts is old enough to be 
 Chetwynd's father ; and sometimes I could almost imagine 
 you to be my younger sister." 
 
 " Then you don't love Philip as I loved Walter? " 
 
 " I don't know how much you loved Walter." 
 
 **Then you are not a person of much observation," said 
 Jenny. 
 
 " I suppose one loves a man according to how much he 
 loves us. You seem to think Philip has neglected me 
 already." 
 
 12 
 
178' BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 " No, I do not ; I think he is ill ; and if you had been 
 me, and Philip had been Walter, I should have been so 
 certain of it that I should have made immediate inquiries, 
 in person or by telegram or both. And, what puzzles me, 
 is that you take it all as quietly as if you had been 
 married five years, and one day your husband had not 
 come home to dinner, and had not sent you word that he 
 was detained." 
 
 " I suppose it was such a strain upon me to get him 
 to propose that the reaction has left me limp and played 
 out, as that American lady said the other day." 
 
 " She said * wilted,' my dear," Jenny rejoined ; '' but I 
 am sorry to hear you speak as if you had given Mr. For- 
 syth positive encouragement to propose." 
 
 " Now don't be a hypocrite, Jenny ; you know I did, 
 and that it was in its way quite a little conspiracy on all 
 our parts, and that Walter was in it as bad as any of us, 
 the darling." 
 
 ** Dolly ! " said Jenny reprovingly, but at the same time 
 linking her arm within her sister's and leading her into 
 the morning room where they generally amused them- 
 selves with needlework and novels, mostly novels. " You 
 are trying to be cynical because you feel annoyed with 
 Philip ; I know you are ; as if it was necessary for you to 
 try and force his hand ! " 
 
 " It might not have been necessary," said Dolly, '* but 
 we did it." 
 
 " Oh, Dolly, you are in a wicked temper." 
 
 " Not at all. I know that what you did was out of 
 your great love for me, and that Walter had no other 
 object ; and 1 will not deny that Philip seemed to like it, 
 that he was very devoted and very eloquent, and that he 
 proposed to me with fervent empressement ; but for all 
 that we had prepared the little trap for him, had we not, 
 dear?" 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 179 
 
 '• Not more than it has to be prepared for all of them, 
 the awkward creatures ; they must have assistance. But 
 one does not prepare the way for unwilling lovers ! Philip 
 loves you, are you not sure of that ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Dolly ; " he thinks I have beautiful eyes 
 and a fine complexion and a good temper, and that I dress 
 well and have an independent fortune, and all that ! " 
 
 *^ And all that ? " exclaimed Jenny, ** and much more. 
 What silly novel have you been reading lately ? " 
 
 " Only the novel we really see about us all the time — the 
 novel that nobody writes — the reality of London society 
 and London life — the truth of every day. I don't mind, 
 Jenny, I take it all as it is ; but when you and I are alone, 
 dear, don't expect rhe to pretend, as I do when Walter is 
 with us or anybody else." 
 
 " Walter ? Dolly ! Do you mean to say I deceive 
 Walter?" 
 
 *' Deceive him ? No, my darling, not more than he 
 knows you do \ we all deceive each other; it is necessary 
 to our happiness more or less. But you and me, Jenny, 
 we are generally perfectly frank ; we have no two natures 
 to keep separated for each other. I love Philip and he 
 loves me, but not in that ecstatic devoted Romeo and 
 Juliet fashion that you have been trying to think of for me 
 in a sentimental moment." 
 
 " Oh, Dolly, you are growing worldly — I am sure you 
 are. I would not have believed it if you had not told me ! " 
 
 " I have not told you anything of the kind. I am not 
 growing anything different from what I have ever been, but 
 I do not try to persuade myself that I am different ; and I 
 am not going to make out that I am breaking my heart 
 because Mr. Forsyth has not called or written or done 
 something that is usual with young men when they ask 
 young women to marry them. I like Philip well enough, 
 I quite appreciate all you say about the possibilities of the 
 
l8o BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 • 
 future, but, as the song says, if he does not care for me 
 what care I how fair he be." 
 
 " In the first place the song does not say anything of 
 the kind," Jenny replied, " and in the next place please to 
 remember that you are engaged to be his wife, and that all 
 London knows it — that is, all that part of London that we 
 care anything about." 
 
 *' My dearest sis, it is of no good your lecturing me. I 
 was born under a merry star, and nothing is going to make 
 me sad." 
 
 " Oh, don't say that, dear ; it is like a challenge to 
 Heaven ! " 
 
 ** I was going to say nothing was going to make me sad 
 except old age," went on Dolly, defiantly. '' I mean to 
 enjoy my life, and I am sure Heaven does not desire any 
 of us to do otherwise so long as we fulfil our duties, visit 
 the poor, ga regularly to church, bear no malice, and covet 
 no man's goods, neither his ox, nor his ass, nor anything 
 that is his." 
 
 Jenny had never seen Dolly in so curious a mood, and 
 did not quite know what to make of it. 
 
 " I mean to enjoy my life," her sister continued, *'and 
 if Philip Forsyth likes to enjoy it with me he is welcome. 
 I have accepted his proposal of partnership, but if he is 
 going to be stiff about it, and formal, neglectful, proud, or 
 grumpy, I can't help it ; he will find he is not going to 
 make me unhappy — at all events without a struggle on my 
 part to be happy." 
 
 '* A struggle, dear!" said Jenny. *' Happiness is not 
 obtained by struggling ; it comes of itself, free and bright 
 like a summer morning ; you don't get it by fighting and 
 wrangling. I do not understand you to-day, unless it is 
 that you are really troubling about Philip ; that you care 
 for him a great deal more than you would for some strange 
 reason have me believe," 
 
JSV ORDER OF THE CZAR. i8i 
 
 ''Jenny, let us drop the subject." 
 
 *' I will not, Dolly. I know exactly what you feel, and 
 what distresses me is that you should try to conceal it 
 from me." 
 
 *' Then, dearest, if you know all you say, why not act 
 upon it, without making all this fuss ? " 
 
 " Fuss ! " exclaimed Jenny. " With all your determi- 
 nation to be happy whatever may occur, Dolly, it will be 
 a sad day for both of us that casts a shadow upon my love 
 for you and your love for me ! " 
 
 Jenny's voice had tears in it ; and Dolly could fight no 
 longer. She flung herself sobbing into her sister's arms ; 
 which Jenny afterwards explained to Walter, fully endorsed 
 all she (Jenny) had said about the serious character of the 
 situation between Dolly and Philip — a situation which was 
 more or less modified, soon after this unusual scene between 
 the sisters, by a call from Philip himself. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 DOLLY AND DUTY. 
 
 The candidate for the Academy's Gold Medal, and the 
 affianced of Dolly Norcott, was received by Mrs. Mil- 
 banke in her afternoon warpaint, just ready to go out, her 
 brougham at the door, in her hand one of those formidably 
 mounted parasols that an American satirist had named 
 '* the husband queller." It was a Paris purchase by Walter, 
 the handle of solid gold, with a jewelled rim that suggested 
 some regal symbol of high office, or at least a civic mace ; 
 a detail to be noted as one glances back a season or two 
 upon tall hats, dress-improvers, and other inventions of 
 Fashion. Mrs. Milbanke herself must have had in her mind 
 the ostentatious importance of that formidable parasol ; 
 for she told Walter that when Philip was announced she felt 
 
l82 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 like a warrior of old in full armor, and with a glove in his 
 casque, ready for anything or anybody, but more particu- 
 larly Mr. Philip Forsyth. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Milbanke," said Philip, " I called to 
 see if I might have the pleasure of taking you and Dolly" 
 (yes, he called her Dolly) " to my mother's Afternoon." 
 
 *' You might," said Mrs. Milbanke, her bonnet on, her 
 golden sceptre in her hand, " and you might not : I really 
 cannot say ; we thought you had forgotten that there was 
 such a place as Westbury Lodge ; at breakfast this morning, 
 Walter wondered whether you had been called abroad." 
 
 Mrs. Milbanke's brown cheeks glowed with suppressed 
 anger. 
 
 '* I hoped to have called yesterday," said Philip, looking 
 at his boots. 
 
 " It is two days since my sister accepted your proposals, 
 the most momentous occasion of both your lives ; for two 
 days she has neither seen you nor heard from you ; and 
 to-day you call as if nothing had happened ; what is the 
 meaning of it, Mr. Forsyth? What are we to understand 
 by it ? My sister is positively ill v/ith vexation or anxiety, 
 I really do not know which." 
 
 " I am awfully sorry," said Philip, " the truth is I have 
 been unusually busy ; I went to Mrs. Chetwynd's At Home 
 last night — more on business than for any other purpose ; 
 Chetwynd came and fetched me away from the studio; 
 and I hoped to have seen you at Dorset-square — you and 
 your sister." 
 
 " I don't know why you should have expected either of 
 us ; we do not know Mrs. Chetwynd ; we have met her 
 once or twice it is true ; and we know Chetwynd, a 
 very pleasant sort of person ; but we do not visit Mrs. 
 Chetwynd." 
 
 Mrs. Milbanke had made up her mind to be calm, if 
 spiteful, the moment Philip was announced ; but she found 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR, 183 
 
 it impossible to control herself. Her tongue wagged at a 
 tremendous rate. " Moreover," she continued, '' if you 
 had any wish or any curiosity about it, you could havfe 
 asked us if we were going to the Chetwynds. A young 
 man does not get engaged every day ; it is an incident, 
 at all events, in a young girl's life which is more than 
 ordinary ; but " 
 
 " Really, Mrs. Milbanke, I don't think I have deserved 
 to be so severely lectured ; and without a hearing," said 
 Philip, interrupting Dolly's sister in her mad career of 
 rebuke. " I was going to explain that I have been un- 
 usually busy ; you know of what importance it is to me 
 that I should lay in that medal picture before I go to 
 Venice ; and I met the lady at Mrs. Chetwynd's whom I 
 wanted to sit for the central figure ; she kindly consented 
 to give me a sitting this morning ; she came, and the 
 moment she left I drove here." 
 
 " What lady ? " said Mrs. Milbanke. 
 
 And then Philip remembered that the entire story of 
 the mysterious lady of the opera was between himself and 
 Chetwynd — and of course Chetwynd's wife. You tell a 
 man something he is not to repeat to anyone, not even to 
 his wife ; he gives you his word, and keeps it, no doubt, 
 as a rule, except in regard to the pledge not to tell his 
 wife. Philip did not quite know why he had not told the 
 story to his dear friends the Milbankes. Perhaps he had 
 not had time \ perhaps he thought Mrs. Milbanke would 
 talk too much about it. He had it in his mind to tell 
 Dolly on the night when he proposed to her, but for some 
 reason or other he did not. 
 
 ^' The lady whom I thought I saw at the opera," PhiHp 
 replied, " and whose face gave me the idea for the sketch 
 of ' Tragedy.' Did I not tell you ? " 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Milbanke, pursing up her little mouth 
 and waiting for further explanation. 
 
l84 ^y ORDER OP THE CZAR, 
 
 *' Well, there was not much to tell. I saw a remarkable 
 face at the opera; it gave me an idea for the picture. 
 Chetwynd found the original. She was at his wife's At 
 Home. She consented to give me a sitting." 
 
 ** Yes ? " said Mrs. Milbanke, ** and so you could not 
 come and see Dolly ; nor send a telegram nor a letter, 
 nor a bouquet, nor anything ; and have we the pleasure 
 of knowing the lady ? " 
 
 " I think not. She is a Russian countess — Lady 
 Stravensky." 
 
 " The woman we met at Lady Marchmount's — that was 
 the name ; I mentioned her to you the day we met at the 
 studio ; the foreign woman who smoked cigarettes, an ad- 
 venturess I should imagine." 
 
 "I don't think so," said Philip, *' but whatever she is, 
 her face is a wonderful study." 
 
 " No doubt," said Mrs. Milbanke. 
 
 " She is received at the Russian Embassy." 
 
 "And at Mr. Philip Forsyth's studio," retorted Mr?. 
 Milbanke. 
 
 " And why not ? " asked Philip, " surely you do not 
 think " 
 
 " Don't ask me what I think or I may tell you and we 
 might both be sorry afterwards ; I love my sister Dolly, 
 and know how good and sweet and forgiving and gentle 
 she is ; and it grieves me to see her miserable ; it is some- 
 thing new, terribly new, to see her cry ; this is one of the 
 happiest households in the world, Mr. Forsyth : but yester- 
 day and to-day we have been all of us positively wretched." 
 
 Here Mrs. Milbanke began '* to give way " as she after- 
 wards told Walter, for Philip did look so mournfully 
 apologetic that she could not find it in her heart to continue 
 the attack. 
 
 " And all this on my account," he said, and it must be 
 admitted he was truly sorry. " Believe me I am deeply 
 grieved ; I hope you will not think I am trying to make 
 
£y ORDER OF THE CZAR. 185 
 
 an excuse when I say Dolly was not out of my thoughts \ 
 for all the time I have been thinking of my work and doing 
 it, my ambition was engaged as much on her account as 
 my own. And I was anxious to make my arrangements 
 for our trip to Venice." 
 
 *' I told Dolly," said Mrs. Milbanke, now laying down 
 her sceptre and sinking gracefully into a chair, " that you 
 could not fail to have a proper explanation ; but she is a 
 sensitive girl, and of course she very much expected to 
 see you yesterday. I was going to your mother's when 
 you were announced. If you will bring Dolly I will send 
 the carriage back for you." 
 
 " I shall be delighted," said Philip. 
 
 Whereupon Jennie went upstairs to her sister, who, 
 much engrossed with a popular authoress' last novel, 
 had for the time being forgotten her own troubles in those 
 of a romantic hero, who, despite his Oriental palace and 
 his many conquests amongst princesses and beauties of 
 the purest blood, married and otherwise, was unhappy on 
 account of some village maiden who had unconsciously 
 made a hot and fierce onslaught upon his hitherto un- 
 touched sensibilities. 
 
 " You must come down, my darling," said Jennie, 
 " Philip is here, very contrite, awfully unhappy ; he has 
 been very busy on a work which he hopes to finish in 
 order to be able to get away with us next week. I talked 
 to him rather severely, but I am sorr^ now, because he is 
 so sorry. Come down, dear ; I will go on to his mother's 
 and he will bring you ; he looks very handsome." 
 
 Dolly laid aside her novel ; got up from her luxurious 
 little couch, which was quite a decoration at the foot of 
 her dainty little bed; looked at herself in a convenient 
 mirror; the investigation was satisfactory, both to 
 herself and to her sister ; and might have been to any 
 male connoisseur of female beauty. Soft, rosy cheeks, a 
 
l86 BY ORDER OP THE CZAR. 
 
 wealth of silken hair, a round undulating figure, the lovely 
 lines of which were indicated in the graceful folds of a 
 flowing muslin tea-gown. 
 
 '* How long will it take you to dress ? '* 
 
 *'Half-an-hour." 
 ' *' Then Philip shall escort me to Lady Forsyth's and 
 return for you, he need not go in." 
 
 " I ventured to ask your mother one day when I was in 
 an inquisitive mood, why she insists upon living in Gower- 
 street," said Mrs. Milbanke, when the brougham was 
 rolling quietly upon its rubber tires by the north side of 
 Regent's Park, and making its way through the north gate 
 and along by the Zoo, " one of the ugliest — not to say the 
 most unfashionable of streets." 
 
 " And what did she say ? " Philip asked, anxious to 
 take an interest in any subject which Mrs. Milbanke might 
 consider worthy of discussion. 
 
 " Because her house at a hundjed and fifty a year was 
 worth six of the Mayfair houses at three or four times the 
 rent, and because she had bought the lease, and further- 
 more because she liked the house, and furthermore still — 
 you know your mother's graphic manner — because a 
 fashionable neighborhood is not necessary to a woman 
 who can bring fashion to her rooms wherever they may 
 be." 
 
 " My dear mother has a great opinion of her social 
 position," said Philip, " and the best people so-called and 
 certainly the most interesting do go to see her." 
 
 "That's true," said Mrs. Milbanke, ''but I have not 
 told you all she said ; she asked me what I meant by liv- 
 ing in St. John's Wood — did I call that a fashionable local- 
 ity ? I said if it was good enough in the past for Landseer, 
 George Eliot, Douglas Jerrold, Charles Dickens, and in 
 the present for an old lady friend of Her Majesty's, half- 
 a-dozen R.A.'s, and no end of literary men of the first mag- 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 187 
 
 nitude, not to mention bankers and divine;^, it was good 
 enough for the wife of a mere city solicitor." 
 
 And thus, after sundry discussions of an equally momen- 
 tous character, Philip and his prospective sister-in-law drift- 
 ed into the very smallest of small talk, which was happily 
 brought to an end very quickly, for Walter Milbanke's 
 horses were as good as his wines and his dinners, Walter 
 priding himself on having everything of the best. 
 
 When Mrs. Milbanke made her way through Lady 
 Forsyth's crowded hall to the drawing-room, Philip For- 
 syth in a somewhat perturbed state of mind was driven 
 back to Westbury Lodge. He hardly felt master of him- 
 self; a strong consciousness of the claims of duty took 
 possession of him. He had proposed to Dolly ; Dolly 
 was a beautiful girl, she might easily make a much better 
 match. His mother liked her very much. Mrs. Milbanke 
 was a kind, genial woman, devoted to Dolly. Walter Mil- 
 banke was a good fellow. They were well-to-do, and they 
 paid him much respect. Chetwynd had said Philip 
 needed the anchorage of marriage ; and after all the Coun- 
 tess Stravensky was a strange creature, with no doubt a 
 remarkable career. She went about in a queer way with a 
 private secretary, who was a very cut-throat looking person ; 
 and she was Philip's senior by several years. He admitted 
 to himself that she exercised a strange fascination over 
 him ; but why did he admit this ? Why did he think about 
 her at all beyond the realm of art, any more than he would 
 think of any other good subject ? He asked himself these 
 questions in a desultory kind of way, and shuddered with a 
 pleasant thrill as he thought of her kissing him ; but this 
 was followed by an unpleasant kind of feeling that there 
 was something motherly or sisterly, or merely friendly in 
 her kiss and in her farewell, nothing suggestive of passion 
 or of love except in the abstract. She had said " Good' 
 bye ; " she had treated him as if he were a memory, not a 
 
1 88 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 living entity.^. As he thought in this wise his mind began 
 to take a cynical view of what had happened ; " she kissed 
 me for someone else, kissed me because I reminded her 
 of someone she had known when a girl, or that some other 
 girl had known ; " Let me kiss him for his mother" ■ — the 
 song ran through his brain with a laugh, as if the thought 
 had been bracketed with the word Laughter^ as the re- 
 porters put it in their chronicles <»f funny speeches. 
 Indeed Philip felt himself in a very bewildered state of 
 mind, inclined at one moment to make fun of himself and 
 his aspirations, then to fall under the influence of the pale 
 face and the red-gold hair, and finally to stretch out men- 
 tal and physical arms towards Dolly and Duty. The 
 alliteration of the words struck him, Dolly and Duty, and 
 he smiled. He was mentally intoxicated. He hated him- 
 self for having behaved inconsiderately to Dolly, who had 
 been so deliciously kind to him only two nights previously, 
 and to whom he had pledged a life's devotion. He felt 
 that he had deserved all that Mrs. Milbanke had said in 
 his disparagement, and all indeed she had not said, but 
 had hinted at ; and sitting by her side with her sensuous 
 perfume still clinging about him, the consciousness of her 
 pretty dresses and in her soothingly luxurious atmosphere, 
 and remembering that Dolly was almost ten years younger 
 and ten times prettier, and with soft round arms and pout- 
 ing red lips, and hai«- like the richest yellow silk, he tried 
 to snap his fingers .at the poetic, intellectual. Oriental 
 beauty of the strange foreign woman who for a few hours 
 had threatened to fill his very soul with her violet eyes 
 and her stately figure and her red-gold hair. 
 
 It is quite questionable after all if Dick Chetwynd was 
 right in advising Philip to get married. And it was equally 
 questionable whether Dolly Norcott was the woman for 
 such an erratic and unstable nature as Philip's seemed to 
 be. Philip's was an emotional nature, liable to fall under 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 189 
 
 evanescent influences. He was imaginative, had mixed 
 ideas of duty, a longing ambition, was proud, had thoughts 
 that were the outcome of momentary influences, good 
 impulses but a short memory for them. He had one great 
 redeeming quality — industry ; but for this he might have 
 been classed among the geniuses who are content to dream, 
 the geniuses who only lack for success the spur of industry. 
 If the narrator of these adventures believed in the evil eye 
 or in interposition of some supernaturally evil factor in a 
 young man's life, he would declare that the face at the 
 Opera had for Philip the evil eye under whose influence he 
 would fall and suffer ; but that is perhaps only because 
 one has to record what appears to be a strange, sudden 
 change in the young man's conduct and destiny from the 
 moment he saw the face of the Countess Stravensky at the 
 Opera ; anyhow it is certain that when the shadow of the 
 Countess Stravensky fell upon the life of Philip Forsyth 
 he became another being, and probably Richard Chetwynd 
 might say " and all the better for Philip Forsyth," since 
 the inspiration of the face at the Opera had given the 
 young fellow's art just the touch of imagination it needed, 
 just the idea of purpose and intention which had made it 
 for the first time in the opinion of Chetwynd a tremendous 
 reality of promise. 
 
 As the brougham glided along that most wearisome and 
 monotonous of all London thoroughfares, Albany-street, 
 Philip recalled what Mrs. Milbanke had said about the 
 foreign lady who smoked cigarettes at Lady Marchmount's, 
 and then for the twentieth time he wondered what could be 
 the meaning of Lady Marchmount professing to ignore the 
 countess' presence in her box on that memorable night 
 at the Opera. For the twentieth time he went over the 
 whole of the circumstances ; and for the twentieth time 
 came to the conclusion that there must be some feud be- 
 tween the countess and th^ young wife of the Russian 
 
I90 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 General Petronovitch, whose name he had noticed in the 
 papers that very morning, by the way, as the representa- 
 tive whom Russia in a semi-official way was sending to 
 Venice, to be present at the functirn, on which occasion 
 Venice was to put on some of her ancient glories, gondolas 
 of past centuries, so far as decoration was concerned, gon- 
 doliers in all the glories of the greatest days of the Queen 
 of the Adriatic. Russia was not willing, it appeared, to let 
 P^ngland and Germany have it all their own way even with 
 Italy; and in that gorgeous procession of boats was to be 
 a barge belonging to General Petronovitch, and probably 
 a military and civic staff. At least that is what the papers 
 said. Philip hoped he might be there to see ; and how could 
 lie see the show in better company than that of Dolly and 
 her sister and Walter Milbanke, who knew Venice, and 
 ftrould be sure to do the thing as it should be done ? 
 
 If Philip had been confronted with this mixture of pro- 
 saic, artistic, worldly, and incongruous interpretation of 
 his multifarious reflections and thoughts as he drove from 
 Gower-street to St. John's Wood, he would probably 
 have denied the correctness of the report ; but much as it 
 might have surprised and perhaps annoyed him, it would 
 nevertheless have been perfectly true ; therefore, in your 
 estimate of the character of Philip Forsyth, do not forget 
 this somewhat inconsequential record of his state of mind 
 on this notable day. 
 
£Y ORDER OF THE CZAR, 19! 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE PATIENCE, HOPE, AND PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY 
 OF SAM SELWYN. 
 
 Early spring sunshine was making pretty lacelike sha- 
 dows upon the dusty roadway, as the Milbanke brougham 
 emerged into the picturesque thoroughfare by the Zoo. 
 Presently it drew aside to permit a royal cavalcade to pass. 
 Her Majesty was paying her usual visit to her old friend, 
 mentioned by Mrs. Milbanke in her defence of St. John's 
 Wood. No sooner was the Queen in town for a day or 
 two than her carriage with its escort was seen in Regent's 
 Park and St. John's Wood. 
 
 It was a bright, inspiring day. Philip with the remem- 
 brance of Dolly and that strong determination of duty in 
 his mind felt the influence of the Russian shadow slipping 
 away from him ; though if he had cared to be perfectly 
 frank with himself he would have had to acknowledge that 
 his sudden realization of the claims of duty had something 
 to do with exorcism of the pale face and the red-gold hair. 
 
 When he arrived at Westbury Lodge he found Dolly 
 waiting for him in the little morning room. How lovely 
 she looked I You might have asked Philip how she was 
 dressed and he could not have told you. She seemed to 
 him like the embodiment of the day, floral, fresh, sunny and 
 sweet. Whether she wore a bonnet or a hat, what was 
 the color of her gown, would have been questions as difii- 
 cult to him as abstruse points in Algebra ; but the general 
 effect Was a dream of English girlhood, sunny hair, soft, 
 glowing cheeks, red lips, arched like Cupid's bow, and 
 
192 B V ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 when she spoke a musical voice that had nothing in it but 
 forgiveness and love, and no other suggestion than a desire 
 to be amiable and happy. He felt the contrast between 
 this and his intercourse with the Lady Stravensky, as a rest- 
 ful, calm delight. 
 
 Dolly submitted to be kissed, and accepted Philip's apo- 
 logies with a pretty smile, saying, " Oh, it did not matter." 
 Of course she had thought when people were engaged that 
 — but she would say nothing, Jennie had said quite enough 
 she was sure, and it was all her fault for taking it to heart. 
 *' And I did somehow take it to heart," she went on, '' but 
 I am spoiled, Jennie spoils me, Walter spoils me, and^I 
 expected you would; perhaps'it is as well — besides it is a 
 mistake not to allow each other a little freedom, is it 
 not?" 
 
 " So long as you allow me the freedom to love you with 
 all my heart," said Philip, kissing her again, " that is enough 
 for me," and in saying so he said exactly what he thought 
 at the moment, his ecstasy being enhanced by a responsive 
 embrace that blotted out every thought of the Countess 
 Stravensky, her violet eyes, red-gold hair and all ; for in 
 the matter of beauty, for pleasant companionship, to live 
 with, to go to receptions with, to have at a young man's 
 side, to make other young men envious of, Dolly Norcott 
 could, to quote Sam Selwyn, give any other girl in all the 
 wide world as many points as the severest handicapper 
 could desire and beat her by miles ! 
 
 Poor Selwyn, he had made it a point to be at Lady For- 
 syth's At Home ; he had long been on her ladyship's 
 visiting list ; and an off day on the Stock Exchange and 
 other considerations drove him to Gower-street. Moreover 
 he hoped to meet Mrs. Milbanke and her sister. He had 
 heard of the engagement between Philip and Dolly almost 
 as soon as he was awake the next morning, but he had no 
 intejitipn of resenting it. He had not proposed to Dolly, 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, . I93 
 
 therefore he had no grievance. He liked Walter Milbanke, 
 and 06casionaIly did business with him. He enjoyed Mrs. 
 Milbanke's little parties ; and he loved Dolly devotedly ; 
 why, therefore, should he give the Milbankes reason to 
 fight shy of him ? No, he would continue the friendship 
 if they would let him. He could not help thinking Philip 
 a bit of a snob ; but for Dolly's sake he would try and like 
 him. Besides, there is many a slip betwixt the cup and 
 the lip ; the safest stock would occasionally collapse. No- 
 thing was certain except settling day; even that had a 
 bright side to it now and then ; and he determined to keep 
 alive just for his own smoking, as he called it, his fancy 
 for Dolly Norcott. 
 
 The fellows at the City" Club where Sam was lunching 
 with these reflections in his mind, while Dolly and Jennie 
 were having their after-breakfast discussion, gave Sam 
 credit for a very different line of thought from that which 
 engaged him. It was known that he had made what they 
 called a haul in nitrate rails and primitivas. A genial, 
 clever, merry fellow, Sam had attracted the friendly notice 
 of the master of those stocks, who over a chop and a 
 bottle of Roederer had confided to Sam certain information 
 upon which the young broker had acted with a lively faith 
 and a firm hand, which had had remarkable results. 
 
 *' Just bought an estate in Surrey, I hear," said Cordiner. 
 " Well, I congratulate you." 
 
 " I've had one in Spain any time this ten years," said 
 Sam. *' It won't run to Surrey." 
 
 '* There is no fellow going whose good luck is less 
 envied than yours, Sam." 
 
 " And you ? " said Sam, looking up from his simple 
 repast and contemplating his suave, genial, well-fed, clean- 
 shaven, fashionably-dressed friend. 
 
 " Oh ! " said Cordiner, " if my doctor did not interfere 
 with my champagne, and Providence invented for one's 
 
194 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 sins a less severe form of punishment than gout, I should 
 be the happiest man alive." 
 
 " You are married ? " 
 
 *' Rather," said Cordiner ; " happy, though married, as 
 the bookstalls have it." 
 
 "I am a bachelor," said Sam, and the information 
 vouchsafed on both sides was not so much out of place in 
 the conversation of City friends as might at first appear ; 
 it is common enough in the City of London for men to 
 know each other intimately within the shadow of the 
 Stock Exchange, and even at certain West End clubs, 
 without having the smallest knowledge of each other's 
 domestic relations. 
 
 " Then you don't want the estate in Surrey at present," 
 said Cordiner — *'no good without a wife." 
 
 '' I suppose not," s:iid Sam, " unless " 
 
 " No, no, don't do that, old chap ; no fun to be got out 
 of that." 
 
 "No?" said Sam, his thoughts running in quite a 
 different direction from those of Cordiner. 
 
 " None ; morality pays, my boy ; requires a bit of a 
 struggle ; perhaps some experience ; but in regard to 
 women it comes within the proverb about honesty being 
 the best policy." 
 
 '' I dare say," said Sam, who by this time had come to 
 the cheese and to a consideration of which frock-coat he 
 would wear for the Forsyth afternoon, and how long it 
 would take him to get home and dress ; and he wondered 
 if Dolly would be there, and what she would say to him, 
 how she would receive him ; how Philip would treat him 
 — haughtily, of course. The conquering hero game and 
 all that ; well, he did not care — he was not going to allow 
 himself to be shut out of a corner of Paradise because he 
 could not range all over it. 
 
 " Are you off? " said Cordiner, who had made some 
 other remark to Sam which had not been answered. 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 195 
 
 '' Yes." 
 
 " You are wool-gathering a little,- eh ? " 
 
 *' Am I? " said Sam. 
 
 " Yes, you are," replied Cordiner, ordering " a pint of 
 the driest there is in the club ; speak to the steward, send 
 him to me, that's the best thing, there's a brut of eighty or 
 something of that kind, I think " 
 
 While Cordiner was thus trying to defend himself as 
 much as possible from the penalty of his favorite sin, 
 Sam had said, " Good-morning, old fellow," and a few 
 minutes later was bowling away to his chambers in Sack- 
 ville-street. And very pleasant chambers they were! 
 Four rooms — three for himself, one for his man, Devereiix, 
 a calm, serious, quiet man of forty, looked sixty, and 
 might have lived all his life with a bishop. 
 
 " Morning frock, white vest, grey trousers," said the 
 master. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Devereux. 
 
 " White silk tie, usual boots." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Devereux. 
 
 " The brougham at four to the minute." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Devereux. 
 
 "That's all." 
 
 "Thank you, sir," said Devereux. 
 
 They were, indeed, very pleasant chambers — not your 
 usual kind of bachelor chambers, decorated with pictures 
 of ballet-girls, or studies from Etty, or racehorses, or 
 illustrations of prize-fights, or pictures of yachts, but 
 good, common-sense, respectable rooms : a dining-room, 
 furnished in light oak, with a dado to match, a few paint- 
 ings by the best modern masters, a cabinet for wines and 
 spirits, a couple of old arm-chairs, an oak over-mantel, 
 with a few nice specimens of Nankin blue, and on the 
 polished floor a thick Turkey carpet. The adjoining 
 room was arranged for smoking and cards; not that 
 
196 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 there was much play at any time in Selwyn's rooms, but 
 his friends liked a hand at whist or poker, and he believed 
 in making them comfortable. He had keys for every- 
 thing — his cigar cabinet, his cards, his counters, his 
 spirits; he was business-like — not that he did not trust 
 Devereux, who kept in a special cupboard a reserve of 
 spirits, wines and cigars, but Sam liked his bunch of keys ; 
 they were, with their bright chain, a form of personal 
 decoration : the chain represented a sort of male chatelain 
 when he thrust his hands into his pockets on dress occa- 
 sions, and he rattled it and his keys with something of a 
 housekeeper's pride. 
 
 There were a few cards stuck in his over-mantel — 
 private views of pictures, two or three At Homes, invita- 
 tions to smoking concerts ; and prominent among the 
 society cards, as Sam called them, was Lady Forsyth's 
 Every Wednesday Afternoon in May and June. 
 
 '' Quite ready, sir," said Devereux, in his ecclesiastical 
 manner. 
 
 "Thank you," said Sam, retiring to his bedroom, the 
 very model of a sleeping apartment, with a spacious bath- 
 room beyond. 
 
 What could a fellow like Sam Selwyn want with a wife 
 while he possessed all these luxuries and privileges — such 
 a servant as Devereux, who had never been known to be 
 in drink or out of temper, and with an improving business, 
 a growing balance at his banker's, and financial prospects 
 generally of the rosiest. 
 
 These questions in a vague way presented themselves to 
 Sam as he began to dress for Lady Forsyth's At Home ; 
 they occurred to him probably because the prospect of 
 his having a wife now seemed further off than ever ; as his 
 means had increased — ^just, indeed, as he could afford 
 with a clear conscience to have said to Dolly Norcott, 
 "Be mine"— she had drifted further away, nay, right 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 197 
 
 away from him ; she had engaged herself to be married to 
 another, and the match was considered to be a good one 
 all round. 
 
 " And yet, somehow," he said to himself, " I don't say 
 die ; might as well, of course ; to hope is like locking up 
 stock that you know is as dead as last week's quotations 
 with a view to the future ; may look up some day ; do to 
 leave in one's will as a possible asset, or to schedule in 
 bankruptcy, as Cordiner would say, when he is chaffing 
 old Smudger — might swell out the figures — unrealized 
 assets : unrealizable would be the right description. 
 Lucky at cards, unlucky in love ; can't have luck all 
 ways ; if I'd busted perhaps I should, in my despair, have 
 proposed and been accepted. No accounting for what's 
 going to happen in this world ; don't know as one can 
 either bull or bear the next, for that matter. Suppose I 
 mustn't complain ; I never ax'd her, sir, she said ; and 
 Fortune has favored me up yonder on 'Change. Cheer 
 up, Sam, don't let your spirits go down, there's many a 
 gal as you knows well — no, confound it, that's vulgar ; 
 I'm losing my grip ; hate tho§e horrid comic, bragging 
 masher songs ; wouldn't have Devereux hear me chant a 
 thing like that for a fiver; and I was thinking of Miss 
 Norcott, too; Sam, what are you about.? The fact is, I 
 am not the kind of fellow for a girl like that ! Forsyth 
 has style ; handsome chap, too ; knows how to put on 
 side ; then his mother has a title ; he hasn't, that's one 
 thing; father only a knight after all; no belter than Tom 
 Wylie ; no better than Vinous Harry ; I could get to be 
 Sir Samuel in time, if I liked ; easy enough, only give 
 your mind, and your stomach, to it in the City, Sir 
 Samuel Selwyn. Well, my forbears were swells down 
 in Yorkshire ; I shouldn't disgrace them ; perhaps I 
 should. Cordiner says one is most distinguished not to 
 be Sir This or That. Old Smudger would call me Sir 
 
198 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 Samivel; but for all that my wife in the West End would 
 be Lady Selwyn ; and after all that's the only good of a 
 title ; it's either for the missus or the boy ; at least in the 
 case of real grit; as for the Snooters who get titles up in 
 the City — well, but it is all right ; surely, I am not making 
 a grievance of it ; and as for Sir Richard Smyth, Sir Harry 
 Dane and those other two fellows who sprang up the 
 other day out of fish and fruit into knighthoods, they are 
 very good fellows after all." 
 
 '* Carriage at the door, sir," said Devereux. 
 
 " Thanks," Sam replied. '* My coat all right, Dev- 
 ereux? " 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Devereux, hitching up the collar and 
 pulling it down again with a professional air. " Good fitting 
 coat, sir." 
 
 "That's all right," said the master. " Shall dine at the 
 club." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Ready to dress at seven." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 LADY FORSYTH AT HOME. 
 
 And half an hour later Samuel Selwyn, Esquire, looking 
 his very best, shook hands with Lady Forsyth, in a dark- 
 ened room, and surrounded by a delightful mixture of 
 Somebodies and Nobodies, guests from Mayfair, and 
 callers from Brixton. Sam felt quite an important person 
 when he encountered little Lomas, the author of " City 
 Notes " in the. Society Snapper^ and who every Friday 
 made a point of looking Sam up for " a few financial hints, 
 don't you know." Little Lomas was quite conspicuous 
 on this occasion. '' Made five and twenty," thought Sara, 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, I99 
 
 " out of the Automaton shares which old Smudger let him 
 have, carrying a little premium before allotment." 
 
 Little Lomas, however, represented the smallest of the 
 Nobodies at Lady Forsyth's ; and the next moment Mr. 
 Selwyn was struck, not with the apparition of a certain 
 famous statesman, whom his enemies call a mere politician, 
 but with the real genuine Simon Pure himself, and evident- 
 ly in one of those amiable moods, about which newspaper 
 interviewers wax eloquent. The great man was talking to 
 Miss Spofforth, the new tragedienne fresh from the United 
 States, at whose first appearance he had most kindly as- 
 sisted. He was telling her to the delight of several listen- 
 ers how much he admired America, how deeply he regretted 
 he had not been able to visit that country, what pleasure 
 it gave him to know that he had many good friends there, 
 and so on. 
 
 Sam felt that it was not quite comme il faut to stand by 
 and listen, but he could not help it ; and he was very much 
 interested when the hostess ventured to introduce his Ex- 
 cellency Signor Ferrari to the illustrious statesman. Why 
 Ferrari was his Excellency did not transpire, but Lady 
 Forsyth was lavish with courteous titles and compli- 
 mentary distinctions. The name of Ferrari set the states- 
 man's mind traveling from America to Italy ; but Ferrari 
 promptly turned the conversation to the Russian news of 
 the day, with its startling details of a military conspiracy 
 just unearthed by the police, and developing extraordinary 
 ramifications. Ferrari, considering that he referred to 
 himself as an old-fashioned loyalist, did not seem to speak 
 of the affair with very great regret ; he even said that it 
 might be a good thing to bring the Young Russian agita- 
 tion to a head, so that once for all Europe should be re- 
 lieved of the everlasting threat of a great Russian upheaval. 
 The famous statesman replied with both frankness and 
 caution, expressing sympathy with the Czar, but at the 
 
jtoo £Y ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 same time regretting that the Emperor did not see his way 
 to give his people a Constitution. Oddly enough the 
 next day all this and much more appeared as the result of 
 an informal chat at a dinner party with an illustrious 
 statesman, and was quoted in a London evening paper. 
 Little Lomas had thus easily capitalized his excursion from 
 Brixton to Gower-street ; and what did he care about the 
 protest of a high-minded London journal against the pub- 
 lication of private conversation? Or for that matter what 
 did anybody else care ? 
 
 Lady Forsyth might well be proud of her afternoons, 
 of the one under notice in particular. The Hon. Member 
 for Blodgetts-in-thc-Marsh brought his wife, who is sup- 
 posed to inspire the smartest of the personal articles in 
 his clever journal of Chat and Opinion. He seemed to 
 be in unusually good spirits, and attended the distinguished 
 statesman to his carriage, chatting all the while about a 
 certain Party resolution which was to shake the Govern- 
 ment on the following day. 
 
 The famous statesman did not stay long with Lady 
 Forsyth. When he was gone there was time to look 
 around and make note of the other celebrities, which, by 
 the way, was being done with a critical eye by Mr. Lucien 
 Lightfoot of the Social and Political Review, which lie 
 represents with a deep sense of its importance and circu- 
 lation. Mr. Lightfoot has the run of the highest society, 
 not alone as a journalist, but for his own sweet sake ; he 
 gives At Homes himself on a large scale, and is in the 
 confidence of no end of Society people, who seek his 
 advice as to *' the right thing to do, don't you know,'* on 
 certain occasions. Since the eminent Mr. Jenkins, of the 
 Post, joined the majority, and the journal of the upper 
 circles went down into the ranks of the Conservative 
 Democracy, no newspaper man has made so distinguished 
 a mark in Mayfair as Mr. Lightfoot, a past master in the 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR, lot 
 
 modern art of Society journalism. He is not only a 
 famous paragraphist, but in his social records knows exact- 
 ly where to draw the line. '' There are At Homes and 
 At Homes," he said to Selwyn. *' One does not care to 
 meet Little Lomas nor to be hobnobbing with the Mem- 
 ber for Ballyraggan, but Lady Forsyth leavens the stodgy 
 lump of mediocrity with blood and distinction ; " and if 
 you had read Lightfoot's account of the Forsyth At Home 
 you would have come to the conclusion that the company 
 consisted of the most ultramarine of the aristocracy. He 
 knew how to give the affair sufficient tone for the Review. 
 In Lightfoot's narrative the great statesman came with his 
 intellectual and charming wife ; the Duchess of Malapert 
 brought her niece, the Hon. Miss Stannyward, whose con- 
 tributions to the fiction of the year had lifted her at a 
 bound into the foremost ranks of lady novelists ; the Misses 
 Flaherty wore delicious Empire gowns. The calm eyes 
 of the Irish leader surveyed the scene with interest, except 
 when he was comparing notes with his friend the American 
 essayist, who had just arrived in London from cultured 
 Boston. The Russian came with his handsome mother ; 
 several members of the Chinese embassy were present ; 
 Miss Rollin, the Shakesperian reciter, gave Portia's speech 
 with much classic correctness, and Mr. Garrick Macready 
 electrified the company with "The Spanish Mother ; " Sir 
 Peter and Lady Freame, fresh from the Royal function at 
 Windsor, put in a brief but welcome appearance ; and on 
 the other hand the latest political thorn in the side of the 
 Government, Mr. Stewart Montrose Morency, and his 
 sister, the founder of the Home for Distressed Socialists, 
 was welcomed by the hostess with her well-known Cos- 
 mopolitan views of the world, of society, and politics. 
 And so on ; it is an education in the ways and peculiarities 
 of society, artistic, Bohemian and Royal, to read Mr. 
 Lightfoot's accounts of men and things in the Review. 
 
202 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 Lady Forsyth, in a grey Irish poplin, was ubiquitous, 
 and it must be confessed that she was a very agreeable 
 hostess. Selwyn wandered about more at his ease with 
 Philip Forsyth than with Dolly Norcott. He thought 
 Dolly tried to avoid him ; he was sure Philip did ; but he 
 was not in the humor to be avoided by anybody who, as 
 he said, was anybody. 
 
 " Will you forgive me for saying you look charming ? " 
 he said to Dolly, with whom after several efforts he was 
 enabled to have a word. 
 
 " I would forgive you for even saying something much 
 more disagreeable," said Dolly, in her liveliest manner. 
 
 " Then forgive me for congratulating you — of course, I 
 am delighted at anything that pleases you, or Walter, or 
 Mrs. Milbanke ; but of course every young fellow in Lon- 
 don will be jealous." 
 
 " What are you trying to say, my dear Mr. Selwyn ? '* 
 Dolly asked, knowing, of course, exactly what he was try- 
 ing to say. 
 
 " I was trying to congratulate you on your engagement 
 to Mr. Forsyth," he answered. 
 
 '' Oh, thank you," she said, slightly discomfitted at Sam's 
 prompt reply. 
 
 " Of course, he is the one to be congratulated," he went 
 on, wondering all the time at his own temerity. 
 
 " I hope so," said Dolly, defiantly. " You seem to think 
 it a good joke." 
 
 " It is no joke for your other admirers." 
 
 " Nor to Mr. Forsyth, nor to me, Mr. Selwyn," said 
 Dolly, drawing herself up to her full height and passing 
 on. 
 
 ^' There now, what a fool I am," said Sam to himself. 
 " I have offended her ; determined to be bold I have over- 
 done it, I suppose. Here comes her sister. Til apologize. 
 Awfully sorry/' he said to Jenny, *' I think I have offended 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 203 
 
 your sister. I was trying to congratulate her, you know ; 
 and I think I was too frivolous, as your good husband, 
 Walter, would say." 
 
 " I am sure you did not mean to offend her," said Jenny, 
 " and therefore she must not be offended." 
 
 " Will you say to her if there is anyone in the world it 
 would break my heart to offend it is Miss Norcott ; except, 
 perhaps, her charming sister, Mrs. Milbanke." 
 
 '' I am sure of it," said Jenny. 
 
 " Besides, my dear Mrs. Milbanke, I will confess to you, 
 strictly between ourselves ; but perhaps I had better not." 
 
 " Oh yes, do by all means, you may confide in me ; let 
 us retreat to Lady Forsyth's Rosamond's bower, as she 
 calls it, where you may give me a cup of tea and your per- 
 fect confidence, will you ? " 
 
 Yes, he would and did, and Jenny was very much in- 
 terested. 
 
 " The truth is, my dear Mrs. Milbanke, if something 
 had happened last week that happened yesterday I should 
 have been daring enough, impertinent enough I ought to 
 say, to have proposed myself to Dolly — I can't help call- 
 ing her Dolly when I think of it." 
 
 *' Yes .? " said Jenny encouragingly. 
 
 " But I could not, alas ! offer her a week ago what I 
 could to-day ! " 
 
 'Yes? " said the sweet little insinuating voice of Mrs. 
 Milbanke. 
 
 " Last week I was only worth a couple a thousand a 
 year from my business — my vulgar business I fear you 
 will say — but business is business, and England has made 
 her name and fame by it, and her greatness after all is 
 business." 
 
 " Yes ? " repeated the still small voice of Mrs. Milbanke. 
 
 *' And to-day I have in addition to that two thousand a 
 year a good solid thirty thousand pounds." 
 
204 ^^ ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 "Then Nitrates have turned up trumps, as you city men 
 say," remarked Jenny. 
 
 " They have," said Sam, " and next week they may land 
 me another thirty thousand for all I know, and I have not 
 a single losing investment ; but to-day, unfortunately, is 
 this week, not last, eh, Mrs. Milbanke? " 
 
 " You are a very good fellow, Mr. Selwyn, and we shall 
 always be glad to see you at Westbury Lodge." 
 
 "And you will apologize to Dolly for me, won't you ? " 
 
 " I include Dolly, when I say we shall always be glad 
 to see you at Westbury Lodge. I must go and speak to 
 Lady Forsyth. Good-bye, if we don't meet again ; we 
 are going soon." She gave him her hand. " Walter always 
 said you would get on. You are cautious and clever. I 
 congratulate you on your good fortune. Come and see 
 us soon ; we must always be good friends." 
 
 "Thank you, Mrs. Milbanke," said Selwyn, pressing the 
 plump, generous little hand. 
 
 And both drifted away in different directions. Selwyn 
 found himself hushed into silence while a lady of the opera 
 sang a mournful love song that made him feel lonely, and 
 Mrs. Milbanke hurried to Dolly to tell her what Selwyn 
 had said. Dolly remarked that she was very glad to hear 
 of Mr. Selwyn's good fortune ; she should always take an 
 interest in him; she was not in the least offended at what 
 he had said ; she had turned away from him because she 
 thought it was the right thing to do ; but she really felt 
 complimented, because it was clear that he envied PhiHp. 
 
 " And Philip ? " said Jenny. 
 
 " Oh, he is very good, awfully penitent, says he never 
 saw me look so lovely, is quite ready for Venice or any- 
 where else so long as I am there, his apparent neglect was 
 really anxiety for his art because he wants to be worthy 
 of me, and indeed he was ever so good, he has gone to be 
 presented to one of his mother's foreign friends. Why, 
 here is Walter 1 " 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 205 
 
 And sure enough Walter had hurried from his city office 
 and driven straight to Gower-street. 
 
 " Thought I would like to come," he said, *' was bothered 
 about Forsyth ; has he turned up ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Jenny, " came to bring us here, was full 
 of apologies. I talked to him like a sister." 
 
 " And he replied like a brother," rejoined Walter, in his 
 comedy-dialogue fashion. 
 
 " He did," said Jenny. 
 
 " And all is well, eh ? " 
 
 ^^Yes." 
 
 " That's right. Where is he ? " 
 
 " Talking to the Baron Von Something, who has just 
 arrived from BerHn." 
 
 " The Berlin-gloved old gentleman with the collars and 
 the glasses ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 ** I see. He must come to dinner, and we will settle 
 the Italian business : I would like you to be ready by 
 Monday." 
 
 *' We are ready now," said Mrs. Jenny, " have been 
 ready this three weeks." 
 
 " Of course, of course," said Walter, *' but Philip wasn't 
 ready ; he's ready now, eh ? " 
 
 ** Oh, yes, quite," said Dolly. 
 
 " Very well, then ; we'll be off at once." 
 
 " Not this minute?" 
 
 " No, next week. Oh, yonder is Selwyn ; must speak 
 to him ; he has made a fortune since we saw him last — 
 yesterday, in fact. But here is Philip. Ah, Forsyth, my 
 dear fellow, glad to see you ; how well you look ! Will 
 you dine with us to-night e?ifamille — a very real phrase 
 to you now at Westbury Lodge — and go over our Italian 
 route, eh ? We propose to start on Monday ; we shall be 
 in time for the royal function we were talking of the other 
 
206 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 day ; something too tremendously gorgeous even in the 
 history of Venice ; have got our rooms all right ; quite a 
 favor, but the hotel people knew us. Can you be 
 ready ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Philip. 
 
 "We shall stay in Paris a few days; so if you have 
 any little arrangements to make at the last moment, you 
 can join us at the Grand, eh ? " 
 
 Walter was full of the trip, and so delighted to find 
 things all right again between Philip and his girls, as he 
 called the sisters, that he went on talking out of sheer 
 exuberance of spirits. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 Philip's love for dolly. 
 
 " Your countess left London for Paris this morning, en 
 route for St. Petersburg," said Lady Forsyth to Philip, 
 when her last guest had departed and they were sitting 
 down to a quiet cup of tea together. " Her secretary, 
 Signor Ferrari, was here ; did you see him? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " I introduced him to the famous statesman." 
 
 " Indeed. He is the man Chetwynd talked so much 
 about; always in attendance, I understood." 
 
 " I believe so ; but all rules have their exceptions." 
 
 " Who and what is this countess, mother ? " Philip 
 asked. 
 
 " A very remarkable woman," Lady Forsyth replied ; 
 " has the entree into the very best society, political and 
 otherwise : curiously fascinating, is she not ? " 
 
 " Has she a mission?" Philip asked, without noticing 
 his mother's question. 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 207 
 
 " Probably." 
 
 " Why did Lady Marchmount say she was not in her 
 box when she was ? " 
 
 " Don't ask me conundrums : at the same time, my 
 dear boy, let me tell you that I would not believe Lady 
 Marchmount on her oath ; they are a self-seeking lot, the 
 Marchmounts ; they could make nothing of loyalty and 
 Toryism and that kind of business, so they came over to us, 
 and now they out-Herod Herod in their intrigues and pro- 
 fessed ambitions." 
 
 " Then they might be taking hand in a Nihilist plot ? " 
 
 *' They would not mind engaging their dirty hands in 
 anything," said Lady Forsyth, with a tone of unsup- 
 pressed contempt. 
 
 " But the countess is a staunch Russian of the old 
 regime'' 
 
 " Is she } " asked Lady Forsyth. 
 
 *' Is she not? " was Philip's rejoinder. 
 
 "What is it to you or me, Philip dear, what she is? 
 For the moment she is interesting, has had a romantic 
 career, is beautiful, has sat to you ; for heaven's sake, 
 let us be content. If you ask me what sort of a woman it 
 is who has such a secretary as Ferrari, I should say she 
 might be anything — a Nihilistic adventuress, or a duchess 
 who loves curiosities." 
 
 " Whatever she is, mother, depend upon it she is a 
 high-minded and noble* woman, and if she had devoted 
 herself to some great act of national duty that might 
 involve her life, I should not be surprised." 
 
 " I hope she has not inspired my dear boy with some 
 romantic fancy," said Lady Forsyth. " In the first place, 
 she is ten years your elder ; in the next place, she has 
 been married twice ; how often she may have been 
 divorced, who can say ? " 
 
 Philip felt the color come into his checks at the sug- 
 
2o8 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 gestion that the countess had made an undue impression 
 upon him, which did not escape his mother's notice. 
 
 "She is not more than thirty," he said; "but whatever 
 she may be, surely there is no harm in taking an interest 
 in her." 
 
 " Not at all. One may take an interest in a baboon, or 
 in the Irish secretary; but these Russian princesses, these 
 Polish countesses, these Jewesses, who marry old lords 
 and play at politics, regal or democratic, are women to 
 be wary of ; you are in their trap before you know where 
 you are." 
 
 " Yes, mother, I quite understand. I was only seeking 
 information, not warnings." 
 
 " Very well, my dear, you have got both, and I hope 
 they will do you good. You know how I love you ; there 
 is no one in the world who can give such good advice and 
 information as mine ; and in the matter of information, my 
 dear Philip, you will be glad to hear that you are to take 
 me with you this evening to dine at Westbury Lodge." 
 
 '' Delighted," said Philip. 
 
 " Mrs. Milbanke confided to me that there had been 
 just the suspicion of a little misunderstanding ; and when 
 I tell you that I saw the shadow of the Countess Stra- 
 vensky in the affair, you will not be surprised at my 
 venturing to warn you." 
 
 " Has Mrs. Milbanke been talking me over, then ? " 
 
 '' Not at all : what she said sprang out of a remark of 
 mine, and her reply was quite natural and spontaneous." 
 
 " But it was rather in censure of me, was it not? " 
 
 " No, it cannot be put in that manner. She hinted at 
 lovers' quarrels." 
 
 ^' Nonsense," said Philip ; " we have had no quarrel." 
 
 " The countess had detained you, and she was alone 
 with you at the studio? " 
 
 " Of course she was." 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 209 
 
 "Did you do much work, Phil?" his mother asked, 
 with a humorous twinkle in her eye. 
 
 '^ Not much," said PhiHp, smiling in spite of himself. 
 
 " You talked a good deal, I make no doubt." 
 
 " We had some conversation, of course.' 
 
 " She has wonderful eyes ? " 
 
 " She has ! " 
 
 " And hair that Titian might have painted — you said so 
 last night ? " 
 
 " It is true." 
 
 " And her voice, a sympathetic voice — eh ? I know 
 you, Philip ; your father was just the same : he admired 
 red hair and violet eyes, and had as sharp an instinct for 
 a pretty woman as any man in the world, God rest him, 
 and one of the kindest fellows that ever broke bread." 
 
 " Of course he had an eye for beauty, mother," said 
 Philip, rising from his chair by her side, taking her face 
 in both his hands, and kissing her heartily. 
 
 " Well, that's all I've got to say," went on his mother, 
 after kissmg him in return, '* except that I think Miss 
 Norcott the most desirable match you could possibly 
 make — sweet, pretty, admires you, and a good income 
 well invested and securely settled. If your father had 
 settled the whole of his fortune on rne before he lost half 
 of it on that horrid exhibition, we would not have had to 
 consider these vulgar questions of money. I only wish I 
 could go to Italy with you, but I am glad you are going, it 
 puts an end at all events to the possibility of any non- 
 sense in that Russian quarter. I should hate a Russian 
 alliance, just as much as the English Parliament would, 
 even if you had not to change your religion for it ; if I am 
 not much mistaken the countess is a Jewess, and if the 
 Forsyths cling to anything, it has always been — so your 
 poor father told me — to their Protestant faith." 
 
 ** Yes, of course," said Philip, but the fact of his mother 
 14 
 
2IO BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 making so much of the countess also set the young man 
 thinking about her afresh, and with just a scintillation of 
 something like a chivalric sense of duty in regard to the 
 defence of persons accused in their absence. 
 
 But when he gave an arm to Dolly and an arm to Mrs. 
 Milbanke, and followed his mother and Walter in to 
 dinner soon afterwards at Westbury Lodge, he was quite 
 at his ease again, and the countess might have been in 
 Paris or St. Petersburg or anywhere else for all he cared ; 
 you see it was rather a convenient disposition, Philip's ; 
 and yet he had the quality of constancy too, no doubt, 
 once it was fairly invoked. 
 
 Dolly, in the daintiest of dinner gowns, considered with 
 due regard to the tone and style of her sister's dress, and 
 also taking into artistic account the surrounding decora- 
 tions, looked divine. Mrs. Milbanke was in her best 
 form. Walter was genial as host could possibly be ; and 
 Lady Forsyth, in black Irish poplin (she was mindful of 
 her country in everything she did, thought, or wore), with 
 her emeralds and her shamrock, a handsome example of 
 the British old lady ; fair, well-nurtured, with long, white 
 hands, grey hair and plenty of it, a voice that was still 
 young, and a natural, easy gracefulness, that did not ape 
 youth, either in dress or manners ! 
 
 The Italian trip was discussed at length over dinner, 
 and Philip began to find himself positively yearning to be 
 off. Venice had always been to him like a fairy tale of 
 mediaeval romance, with a floating city in it ; with cos- 
 tumes of Oriental loveliness, and with warriors of Oriental 
 picturesqueness and AngHcan valor ; with women golden- 
 haired, violet-eyed, and with that Venetian form of mouth 
 that was made for love and pictures. - He had seen with 
 his dreaming eyes the brown and yellow sails on the 
 many-hued lagoons, and he had heard the tell-tale whis- 
 perings of the outgoing sea as it slipped by the gorgeous 
 palaces on moonlight nights. There was only one break 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 21 1 
 
 in the perfect romance and beauty of his idealization of 
 the city of the sea, and that was to his mind the impos- 
 sibility of telling its story on canvas. Turner had sug- 
 gested it, Canaletti had tried to give it all its realistic 
 beauty, but even these masters did not rise to the pro- 
 saic muse of Rogers, whose lines you could treat as 
 texts to build palaces upon, and set to dreams of sea 
 and sky and old romance. Philip was a poet in sentiment 
 and feeling, and Chetwynd, his friend and art-adviser, 
 believed he would one day bring a noble creative power 
 into his work ; at present Philip was rather embarrassed 
 with something like a material interpretation of the poet 
 according to Festus — poets are all who love, who feel 
 great truths and tell them — and the truth of truths is love ; 
 and he made up his mind to love Dolly with all his heart, 
 and if Mrs. Milbanke had had any doubts previously 
 about Philip's devotion to Dolly they were all dispelled on 
 this evening. 
 
 Philip had even astonished and delighted his mother by 
 the earnest and even enthusiastic efforts he made to please 
 his betrothed and to shine in the eyes of her family. One 
 says family without considering it necessary to bring in 
 Dolly's father and mother, who lived at Norwood in a 
 quiet suburban way, two old people with their old servants, 
 and their old-fashioned ways, and with whom Dolly spent 
 some of her time, who occasionally visited at Westbury 
 Lodge ; but they considered their day was over ; they had 
 brought up a family of three, well and successfully ; their 
 eldest son was a Judge of the Supreme Court of India, 
 and their two daughters were the happy sisters of this 
 truthful narrative ; and this is all that it is necessary to 
 say of Mr. and Mrs. Norcott, very worthy and well-to-do, 
 kind, pleasant people, whom Lady Forsyth expressed a 
 desire to call upon, and to see whom Mrs. Milbanke pro- 
 mised to drive to Norwood any day Lady Forsyth pleased. 
 
212 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 Her father and mother had no special day, but were always 
 at home to their friends every day ; and her father's cook 
 was good enough even for Walter ; so no more need be 
 said as to the Norwood hospitality. 
 
 As the narrator has already remarked, Philip, on this 
 pleasant occasion, did all he .could to make himself agree- 
 able. He even sung those little lullaby German songs in 
 which his studio friends always found a special charm. 
 He also told the several little Russian stories which be- 
 longed to a mythical age of tradition, of which the Tartars 
 might hardly have been suspected ; and Dolly discovered 
 that Philip had more accomplishments than she had sus- 
 pected — a declaration which his mother capped by regret- 
 ting they had not a guitar at Westbury Lodge, an omission 
 which Mrs. Milbanke promised to remedy the very next 
 day. 
 
 '' My dear," said Lady Forsyth, " these little German 
 ditties should be sung either to the guitar or zither, and 
 Philip is quite a master on both." 
 
 " Nonsense, mother ! And besides, I have not seen 
 ei'^her guitar or zither for months." 
 
 " My dear Philip," said Walter, " we will have both on 
 the Grand Canal ; we will be our own galugenti ; we can 
 already sing ' Finiculi, Finicula,' can we not, Dolly ? " 
 
 Dolly smiled, and Walter sat down to the piano. 
 
 " Come, Jenny," he said. ** When first we heard this 
 song and chorus, floating as we were by moonlight along 
 the canal towards the quay, we all fell madly in love with 
 it ; tried to get the song in Venice, tried in Milan, tried in 
 Paris. Get everything in London ; only one place in the 
 world where you can get everything. You must join us, 
 Philip." And Walter, in a light but effective tenor voice, 
 led off with the solo, and the chorus followed ; and Lady 
 Forsyth said she would certainly keep this performance in 
 view for her next charitable concert in aid of the Irish 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 213 
 
 distress in her own sweet native vale of Acushla. And 
 so the evening passed away with music, love, and pleasant 
 talk ; and the Venetian trip and studio, and the future of 
 Philip looked as rosy as his mother and their dearest 
 belongings could desire. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE COUNTESS, THE JEWS, AND THE GONDOLIER. 
 
 But Lady Stravensky had to be reckoned with in the Phi- 
 lip and Dolly business. The Jewish woman of Czarovna 
 held a brief from Fate in regard to Lady Forsyth's pleasant 
 calculations of matrimonial happiness and prosperity for 
 her son. None of them knew or suspected how nearly the 
 fortunes of the countess touched theirs. It was a bad day 
 for Philip when he saw that face at the Opera. How far 
 it was bad for Dolly and her sister Jenny, for Walter Mil- 
 banke and other persons in this drama of life, remains to 
 be seen. The narrator is perfectly well aware what is *^o 
 happen to Philip, and what must be the end of the coun- 
 tess. 
 
 These things are foreshadowed by those who read be- 
 tween the lines as well as on them. But Dolly Norcott 
 floats gaily along the stream, and who knows where she 
 shall find a port, or what it will be like ? She has charm- 
 ing qualities. One would like her to be happy. For that 
 matter, PhiHp Forsyth is not undeserving of good fortune, 
 but surely he is destined to have trouble. He dreams 
 dreams. He mixes his professional ambition with his love. 
 He is not stable. His impulses are fine. He is constant 
 while he is with Dolly ; but on his way home he sees 
 visions of the poetic face of the countess, her violet eyes, 
 hpr deep-red hair. She is the central figure of his unwrit- 
 
214 J^Y ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 ten romances, the heroine of his unpainted pictures. And 
 just as a certain set of people go mad over Ibsen's unwhole- 
 some plays, so Philip was going mad over the aspirations 
 of young Russia, checked for the moment by the shadow of 
 the Countess Stravensky, whom he regarded as one of 
 those accidental endowments of birth which belong to a 
 bad cause as if in fatal mockery of heaven. 
 
 When Philip was with Dolly, the pretty English girl had 
 it all her own way ; when he thought of the foreign coun- 
 tess, ten years his senior, as his mother had reminded him, 
 his pulse rose and his face flushed. He put these physical 
 manifestations down to ambition, to art fervor, to a name- 
 less something that suggested destiny. This did not 
 argue well for the domestic happiness of DoKy Norcott 
 when she should be Mrs. Philip Forsyth. 
 
 While it is placed on record that the Countess Stra- 
 vensky had to be reckoned with, in the warp and woof of 
 the lives of Dolly and Philip, in the plans of Lady^ Forsyth 
 and the pretty sisterly intrigues of Mrs. Milbanke, let it 
 not be understood that our unhappy queen of the ghetto 
 had any desire or intention to interfere with the matri- 
 monial or worldly prospects of Philip Forsyth, except in 
 so far as she might help him on his way. He had deeply 
 impressed, her. For a moment he had reawakened feel- 
 ings which had been dead since her love, her best instincts, 
 her womanliness, her faith in heaven, her hope in the great 
 Father, had been literally cut out of her heart and soul by 
 the Russian knout. It was only for a moment ; and in 
 that moment she saw herself an innocent girl sitting at the 
 feet of her lover in the peaceful home of her childhood. 
 In that moment the perfume of a lovely past fell around 
 her ; and she gazed upon the young artist, who had Lo- 
 sinski's eyes and hair, and Losinski's voice and gait. As 
 the mist cleared, it came to her to think that this was but 
 a vision intended by Fate to whet her appetite of ven- 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 215 
 
 geance — a whisper from the red grave of the murdered 
 rabbi. Then she remembered who and what she was ; the 
 outrage of the governor Petronovitch ; and with that 
 memory came grateful recollections of the devotion of Stra- 
 vensky, who in his heart had loved the beautiful maid of 
 the ghetto, and in his age, stricken with death, had 
 endowed her with his name, and combined with hers his 
 own passion of vengeance, and his aspirations for a free 
 Russia. Anna's interview with Philip Forsyth had for the 
 moment given a tone of sentiment to her otherwise rugged 
 ambition when she found herself all suddenly in love with 
 him, to discover as suddenly that it was love by proxy 
 the revival of a passion that belonged to the dead. But 
 the passing weakness over the retrospect that had come into 
 her reflection now tended to strengthen the arm that was 
 rather made for loving embraces than to wield the ven- 
 geance of a conspiracy. Fate has its own inscrutable 
 purposes that make havoc with every human intention, 
 and provide perpetual surprises for those who come to the 
 conclusion that they can no longer be astonished. 
 
 Lady Forsyth understood that the Countess Stravensky 
 had gone to Paris en route for St. Petersburg, but this was 
 not the fact. Ferrari had traveled to the gay city alone. 
 It was seldom that he left the side of the countess, whom 
 he served with the devotion of a slave, but with the au- 
 thority also of a member of the same band of Russian 
 regenerators. She had no wish to stray from the patriotic 
 path upon which they traveled together ; and if she had, 
 it would have been the duty of her secretary to hold her to 
 her bonds. Immediately after Lady Forsyth's " At Home," 
 Ferrari had sudden business in Paris and Venice ; and the 
 countess withdrew to an almost equally foreign country in 
 London, namely, to Soho, an English land of exiles, con- 
 spirators, and Nihilistic wire-pullers, in the heart of a 
 peaceful metropolis. 
 
21 6 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 While Ferrari had many disguises, the countess had only 
 two, and they were hers by right ; they infringed upon the 
 personality of no other being ; she was the countess, and 
 she was Anna Klosstock. As the countess, she was 
 what we have seen, a lady of position, recognized by the 
 Russian Court, and in the very highest European society. 
 As Anna Klosstock, she was the friend and accomplice of 
 that very Brotherhood of which Ferrari had spoken to the 
 count on that never-to-be-forgotten day, when he had 
 ridden into Czarovna to see if he could be of any assist- 
 ance to the Klosstocks and their co-religionists. At the time 
 when Philip was singing his lullaby ditties at Westbury 
 Lodge, Anna Klosstock, in the guise of a poor Jewess, was 
 sitting in council with three members of the Brotherhood, 
 and they were congratulating themselves upon the vast 
 extension of the military conspiracy which had that day been 
 chronicled in the English papers ; the fact that the plot 
 had been discovered was atoned for by the proof of its 
 immense ramifications all over the Empire. 
 
 " You are a Russian born, Paul," said Anna, addressing 
 one of the three, a tall, picturesque-looking man of fifty, 
 muscular, with a flat face, sallow complexion, fiery eyes, 
 gray hair, and a mouth that seemed to smile on one side 
 of his face and sneer on the other; "you were born in 
 Russia, in Moscow ? " 
 
 '' Yes, sister ; my father was born there, and my mother 
 too, and there were five of us in family." 
 
 *' And you are the only one left ? " 
 
 "That is so." 
 
 " Siberia and the knout only spared you because you got 
 away ? " 
 
 " If there is work to do it is not necessary to remind me 
 of these things ; I never forget them, nor my oaths — nor 
 my pleasure." 
 
 At this last remark both sides of his mouth seemed to 
 smile. 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR 217 
 
 " You know Venice ? " asked Anna with the manner of 
 one who repeats a fact and invites information upon it. 
 
 ♦' I was there with our brother Ferrari for three years." 
 
 " You were a gondolier ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " He was a merchant? *' 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " He employed you ? ^ 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " You respect and honor "him apart from your oath ? " 
 
 *' Yes." 
 
 " As friend and chief? " 
 
 '' Yes." 
 
 " You have friends in Venice ? *' 
 
 *' One." 
 
 " He can be trusted?" 
 
 ''Yes." 
 
 " A gondolier? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " You will leave London by the next train, and boat for 
 Venice ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " The King of Italy is to be received in state by the 
 municipality. The Countess Stravensky will be your mis- 
 tress in the procession of boats. She will be attended by 
 her secretary, Signor Ferrari ; you and your friend will be 
 her gondoliers ; your uniform red, the decoration of your 
 gondola red ; you will await the countess by the Pesaro 
 Palace until she makes her appearance ; the old watchword ; 
 your rendezvous with Ferrari will be at the little hotel of 
 the Beau Rivage. In three days hence you will be there ; 
 he will have arrived ; seek him and know the rest." 
 
 " I shall," said Paul, holding out his hand for the bank- 
 notes which Anna drew from the pocket of her black 
 dress. 
 
2i8 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 " Withen ten days Ferrari may expect me. The Royal 
 function which the Countess Stravensky is to attend, and 
 at which General Petronovitch is to be present, will take 
 place two days after my arrival, when it will be shown that 
 the ann of the Brotherhood is strong and long-reaching." 
 
 The double smile came into Paul's sallow face, and the 
 two other men remarked in different words, but with the 
 same meaning, that the patriots needed encouragement. 
 
 " You have seen a detective from Scotland Yard ? " 
 
 " Yes/' said Paul. 
 
 " About the visit of the German princes ? " 
 
 " Yes. We are safe in our asylum here so long as we 
 respect it ; that was the police message.* 
 
 " All must be free to come and go, eh ? " 
 
 "That is so. Anything happening to any one of 
 England's guests, and we shall be cleared out." 
 
 " So far as we can, let us obey the mandate ; it is just. 
 Any other reports ? '* 
 
 " None." 
 
 "■ Good-night." 
 
 During the next two or three hours, Anna Klosstock 
 made her way through certain malodorous quarters of the 
 East End, where the sweater demon held his grim court ; 
 among Polish and other Jews, refugees, paupers — miser- 
 ables of all kinds. 
 
 Wherever her shadow fell upon them, it brought com- 
 fort. Anna Klosstock was an angel in these benighted 
 regions. She spoke the language of the sufferers. They 
 told her their woes j how they had been shipped from their 
 native land like slaves ; how they arrived in London pen- 
 niless, friendless j how they labored night and day for bread 
 and shelter ; and their chief complaints were against their 
 co-religionists. As a rule, the Jew is good to his people ; 
 but in London, the English Jew seems to take advantage 
 of his foreign brother ; the sweated and the sweater in the 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 219 
 
 East End are mostly Jews. Why England should allow 
 these waifs and strays to be cast penniless upon her shores, 
 was one of the questions that puzzled Anna in her studies 
 of English freedom. But she did not stay to debate these 
 or any other questions, she only remembered the sufferings 
 of her race, and in whatever city she found herself she 
 sought out poor and wretched Jews, and gave them her 
 bounty with words of sympathy and hope, " for surely/' 
 she said, '' our term of probation is drawing to a close 
 and the day of promise is at hand." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE HEART OF A MAN IS DECEITFUL, 
 
 It is not for the author of this history of Love and Advenv 
 ture to attack or defend his hero. Philip Forsyth will 
 fulfil his destiny, whatever his biographer or the reader 
 may have to say to it. He is not the first who might have 
 exclaimed in regard to two women, " How happy could I 
 be with either, where t'other dear charmer away." Or, at 
 all events, not the first who had thought in this wise of 
 two desirable ladies. 
 
 The psychological novelist, or the student of physical 
 and spiritual motives in man, would no doubt bend his 
 intellectual energies upon an investigation of the dif- 
 ference between the influence of the countess and that 
 of Dolly Norcott on the sentiments and emotions of the 
 young and impressionable artist. Did he love the coun- 
 tess? And were his feelings toward Dolly the mere 
 outcome of passion ? Were the Westbury Lodge influ- 
 ences physical and worldly, and the Russian impressions 
 spiritual and divine ? Or vice versa ? Philip, it is plain, 
 stood, as between the countess and Dolly, somewhat in the 
 
i2o BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 position of Garrick between Tragedy and Comedy, though 
 he would not have admitted it to himself. If he had never 
 seen the Countess Stravensky, he might have had a calm, 
 domestic career with Dolly Norcott ; but the Russian 
 Jewess exercised a strange fascination upon him, and he 
 upon her. To what extent they were each under the 
 other's influence was made clear to them, as it will be to 
 us, under somewhat prosaic circumstances. The Mil- 
 bankes had started for Venice via Paris, and had left it for 
 Philip to join them at the little hotel in the Rue Castig- 
 lione, where Walter Milbanke had taken a very pleasant 
 suite of rooms. Philip had gone down to Charing Cross 
 close upon train time, and had found every seat occupied, 
 except one in a coupe nearly at the end of the train, upon 
 which coupe the forbidding notice " Engaged " was very 
 prominently displayed. 
 
 As Fate would have it, the coupe was occupied by the 
 Countess Stravensky, and as if that same watchful fate had 
 been more than usually active in the interests of Anna and 
 Philip, the lady was thinking of the person who was seek- 
 ing a seat in the Dover express. The countess had com- 
 posed herself to a jouraey of silent thought. She was 
 alone. Her maid was in a second-class carriage, having a 
 flirtation with Ferrari's servant, for Ferrari deemed it 
 necessary to be attended on occasion, for appearances 
 and conveniences, by a valet of knowledge and experience. 
 The countess, however ostentatious her establishments in 
 Russia or Paris, only confided in one maid, who found her 
 service both profitable and pleasant. 
 
 The queen of the ghetto was troubled with sensations 
 that were entirely new to her since the tragic days of 
 Czarovna. It was a relief from the dark and hypocritical 
 ways of her woman's life to cherish the gleam of sunshine 
 that had somehow crept into her heart with her visit to 
 Philip Forsyth's studio. Though she might never see the 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 221 
 
 young artist again, she would cherish his memory ; and 
 while she was feeling this rather than expressing it, even 
 to herself, it came into her mind to think that Fate was 
 demanding another sacrifice from her in this consent to 
 part from him. She knew that nothing good could come 
 of her association with him; that if there were love pas- 
 sages between them, they could only be for her a passing 
 relaxation of thought, the chief charm of which would be 
 to try and dream herself back again into the arms of 
 Losinski in that far-off time when she was betrothed to 
 him. But it was strange, she thought, that on the eve of 
 seeing, as it were, the other Losinski, she should be on her 
 way to that city of the sea they had talked of and arranged 
 to visit together, that city which Losinski loved, which 
 Ferrari knew so well, where Jew and Gentile were friends, 
 as they were in London, where the ghetto was a name 
 merely, and where " the badge of the tribe," if worn at all, 
 was only treated as an ornament. 
 
 It was a pleasant day. The sun was shining brightly 
 even into Charing Cross Station, and the countess, laying 
 aside the light wrap which her maid had handed to her, 
 was reclining in the furthest corner of her coupe, given 
 over to her reflections, and her reflections, as we have 
 seen, were more particularly occupied with Philip Forsyth, 
 with whom, had circumstances permitted, she could have 
 fallen desperately in love. This thought gave her pain 
 and pleasure ; but she suffered the pain for the sake of the 
 little sweetness of fancy that took off the sharp edge of the 
 bitter. She contemplated from the carriage window the 
 bustle of the station without seeing it. Her thoughts were 
 *in that Primrose Hill studio, and her fancy had trans- 
 planted it to the head of the street in the Jewish quarters 
 of Czarovna. Right in the midst of her fanciful picture of 
 the past and the present, there was suddenly interposed 
 the living figure of the young artist. For a moment she 
 
222 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 could not realize the truth of it, starting up as it did 
 amidst the prosaic surroundings of the railway platform, ot 
 which she now became conscious. 
 
 With the persistence that belongs to railway travelers 
 in search of seats two minutes before the train starts, 
 Philip looked longingly and inquisitively into the engaged 
 compartment, and his eyes met those of the occupier. He 
 stood at the window as if transfixed. She smiled at him 
 a dreamy recognition, and then suddenly came forward, 
 and at a wave of her white hand the guard opened the 
 carriage door. Philip stepped inside, and the next moment 
 the Dover express was gliding on its way. 
 
 **Why, my dear countess," exclaimed Philip, "what a 
 delightful surprise ! I thought you were in St. Petersburg, 
 How glad I am that I was late, and could not find a seat. 
 How very kind of you to take pity on me." 
 
 " I shall be rewarded for my compassion in your plea- 
 sant companionship." 
 
 She looked at him, as she spoke, with what seemed to 
 Philip to be an inviting sympathy of interest. He felt the 
 olood rush into his cheeks. 
 
 " You are very good," he stammered ; " and so is Fate. 
 I don't know what I have done to be so highly favored." 
 
 '' By Fate ? " she said, interrogatively. 
 
 " By Fate," said Philip, " and by you." 
 
 " Fate and me,*' she said thoughtfully, and with her 
 pretty accent, " what a partnership ; but It is a strange 
 world, and it might be Fate that brought us together here 
 in this carriage, without our consent or our interposition." 
 
 *' Fate is not always kind." 
 
 " Is it kindness to bring us together again when we had 
 parted for ever ? " 
 
 " Had we parted for ever? " Philip asked. 
 
 *' I thought so," said the countess. 
 
 " Did you hope so ? " he asked. 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 9a,i 
 
 *« I think so." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " For many reasons." 
 
 " Tell me one." 
 
 " Because I thought you were more interested in your 
 model than in your picture." 
 
 She looked at him steadily, but with a softness, he 
 thought, of expression in her eyes. His heart beat 
 violently, and she felt a strange desire to give herself over 
 to the spirit of memory which Philip was once more stir- 
 ring within her. In a navy-blue serge suit, with a white 
 silk handkerchief tied loosely about his neck, his deep, 
 black eyes ablaze with his unconcealed passion, his black 
 hair hanging about his temples^ Anna saw again her love 
 of Czarovna, could have sworn she heard his voice ; and 
 in Philip's trembling accents she felt the thrill of an old 
 love. She had experienced so much suffering in the world 
 that Fate seemed to be whispering in her ear, " Why suffer 
 always, why cast aside this chance of happiness ? Remem- 
 ber of the past only that which is pleasant.'* And she 
 leaned back on the soft cushions, and gazed at the flashing 
 eyes of the young painter, who at that moment forgot 
 everything, everybody, but the woman who sat before him, 
 to his mind a living dream of beauty. 
 
 " My dear countess ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 She smiled and gazed at him. A blush seemed to 
 steal into her pale cheeks. Her lips parted as if she were 
 about to speak. 
 
 " My love I " he said, encouraged by her tender looks, 
 and stealing to her side he took her hand. 
 
 She neither moved nor spoke. He pressed her hand to 
 his lips. She turned her face towards him. There were 
 tears in her eyes. 
 
 '' I love you, I love you ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 She withdrew her hand from his and shuddered. 
 
224 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 *' God help you," she said, " and forgive me ; if He does 
 help — if He does forgive," and she covered her eyes with 
 her hands. 
 
 Philip only repeated " I love you," while the train went 
 gliding along through green meadows, whitened here and 
 there with the first blossoms of the spring. 
 
 *' You must not love me," she said presently, " I can be 
 to you nothing more than a memory, not even a friend." 
 
 ** You can, you must," replied the passionate youth, 
 utterly oblivious of his engagement to Dolly, with no 
 thought or sense or feeling but what belonged to the 
 moment. 
 
 " I wish it might be," she said^ struggHng against her 
 fate. 
 
 *' From the first moment I saw you," he exclaimed, 
 stimulated by her expressed wish '* that it might be," and 
 with the belief that to love or passion everything is pos- 
 sible, " on that night at the opera, I adored you ; from 
 this happy day forth I am your slave ! " 
 
 " Forbear ! " she said. *' It will not prove a happy day. 
 I would love you if I could, if I dared. It is impossible. 
 Our destinies are as far asunder as the poles." 
 
 " They shall be brought together," he replied passion- 
 ately, "as close as our lips." And he had kissed her be- 
 fore she could make even a show of resistance. 
 
 Then there was a pause, but she let the hand he had 
 seized lie passively in his; and the train went beating 
 along its iron way, past farm and station, skirting >vood- 
 lands and pastures. The clouds went racing along too, 
 and Philip's hot blood coursed through his veins in sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 He stole his arm about her waist, as no man had since 
 the days of Losinski. She permitted it, forgetting why 
 she had at first shuddered at his touch, and allowing her- 
 self to drift along with the fond embrace and honeyed words 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR, 22% 
 
 of her lover, who was beside himself with the success of 
 his attack upon this stately, beautiful, mysterious beauty. 
 
 Presently she drew herself away from him and assumed 
 an air of entire self-possession. 
 
 " Philip, I hope you may learn to forgive me for this 
 weakness, this temptation to forget a bitter past, in an 
 unlooked-for visitation of sweetness. Nay, listen, do not 
 speak. You are young and impulsive. You will have 
 time to forget. The world is all before you, full of glo- 
 rious possibilities, love, fame, happiness. For me, there is 
 but a hard, thorny road, and I must tread the path alone. 
 If you could know all, you would say it is so ; you would 
 never seek to alter it; you would indeed shudder at the 
 depth of the precipice you have stood upon ; stand aghast 
 at the escape my self-denial gives you, for I could love 
 you; yes, not alone for the sake of the past, but for 
 your own ; but — and here I beg you to take note of my 
 words — you might as well think of allying yourself with 
 the worst woman your fancy can depict as with me." 
 
 "You are saying this to disenchant me; you love 
 another : or " 
 
 " I am not saying it for any purpose but to save you 
 and myself from a crime, a sin, and you from a future 
 of humiliation. I do not love anyone ; I am a widow ; 
 I was widowed from my love on the eve of my marriage ; 
 I was only a girl, and there are sufferings in this world 
 worse than death, humiliations worse than the gallows.'' 
 
 Her lips quivered as she spoke, and the expression of 
 terror and anger, of something between madness and 
 grief, between defiance and vengeance, which Philip had 
 noticed in that face at the opera, seemed to convulse her. 
 All this, instead of discouraging Philip, stirred in him the 
 defiant desire for some opportunity to show to the woman 
 either the madness or the sincerity of his passion. 
 
 ** I care not what you are, what you have been, what 
 
 15 
 
226 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 you may be — if we had to descend into the bottomless pit 
 together, I love you, and will for ever and ever 1 " 
 
 " You are mad," she exclaimed. 
 
 " I may be." 
 
 *' You are mad," I say ; '' would you consort with ^ 
 murderess I " 
 
 ** You are none," he replied, with a lofty smile. 
 
 " For you I am worse," she said ; " and I tell you now, 
 my dear, misguided friend, that this love of yours, of mine 
 if you will, is not only madness, it is folly, it is worse;" 
 and then noticing how firm was his madness, how impos- 
 sible to shake it, she made a tremendous sacrifice of her 
 feelings, her pride, everything that woman holds dear, and 
 whispered in his ear, " What is worse than a mur- 
 deress, what is worse than anything man considers bad 
 in the woman he loves ? I am that ! yes, I am that ! " 
 
 " My God ! " the boy exclaimed, moving away from 
 her in horror, *' is it true ? " 
 
 ** It is true," she said, and burst into tears. 
 
 " I pity you from my heart," he said, " I pity my- 
 self." 
 
 She sobbed or affected to sob. He sat silently, stunned 
 by her confession. The train ran along just as smoothly, 
 just as swiftly as before. Neither of them spoke again 
 for some time. At last, secretly congratulating herself 
 on the success of her stratagem, and at the same time 
 stung to the quick that he should believe her, Anna said, 
 *' And now let us be a man and woman of the world,; what 
 has passed between us is our secret ; let us respect it ; let 
 us talk no more of love ; if we meet again, we can know 
 each other as persons in the world, you can know me or 
 not as you wish ; we can think of this as an incident of 
 our lives in which there was a little sweet, and very much 
 bitter, as there is in all incidents of this life ; and some 
 day, When you are happy with your honest love and with 
 
B V ORDER OF THE CZAR, 227 
 
 your children about you, and you are a great painter, you 
 will think of me as kindly as you can j and one day in 
 that future you shall, if it interest you, know my life all 
 through ; and then you will forgive and pity me." 
 
 " As I do now," said Philip tenderly, " as I do now." 
 
 Her confession had done its work. She knew it 
 would. She had reckoned up the passionate poetical 
 nature of the young fellow quite truly. There is one sin 
 which not the most romantic lover can overlook ; one 
 crime which love cannot condone in the object of its wor- 
 ship. But Philip was in a miserable state of mind ; and 
 in his misery he had the audacity to think of Dolly 
 Norcott for the first time since he had encountered 
 the countess at Charing Cross — so selfish, thoughtless, 
 ungrateful is it possible for the heart of man to be. 
 And as he thought of her, he wished the woman before 
 him was as good, and virtuous, and truly lovable — a 
 piece of ingratitude which only a master in the analysis 
 of the psychological evolution of love and passion can 
 understand or excuse. 
 
 " Shall we meet again in Paris ? " Philip asked, as the 
 train slowed up for Dover. 
 
 " Not by appointment," she answered, '' and it would 
 be best that we should never meet again." 
 
 " I do not know what to think of you," he said. 
 
 " Do not think of me," she replied. 
 
 *' I will not believe that you have told me the truth j 
 will you not give me a rendezvous ? " 
 
 " Not now ; at some other time I will." 
 
 " You will ? " 
 
 ''Yes." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " I do not know. You may hear of me at 20, Rue de 
 Bach ; but do not seek to find me ; wait until I write to 
 you or send a message to you. I know where to address 
 you." 
 
228 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 ** But I am leaving London for a month or twa" 
 
 " You remain in Paris ? " 
 
 " No, in Venice." 
 
 *' In Venice ! " she repeated ; but he did not notice 
 the expression of surprise that passed over her face. 
 
 '• My address there will be the Hotel Beau Rivage." 
 
 "The Hotel Beau Rivage," she repeated slowly, as 
 her maid presented herself at the coupe. The countess, 
 giving her hand to Philip, said '' Good-bye," to which he 
 promptly responded : 
 
 " We shall meet on the boat." 
 
 " Perhaps not." 
 
 " In Paris then ? " 
 
 " Not until you hear from me," she said firmly. 
 
 " But it is au revoir ? " he asked appeahngly. 
 
 f'Yes, au revoir T' she answered. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 PHILIP TRIES TO FORGET. 
 
 As Philip made his way to the night boat for Calais, he 
 found himself staggering down the gangway. The inten- 
 sity of his sensations had shaken his nerves. He felt as 
 if he had just come out of a fever, as indeed he had. 
 Reaching the deck, he sat down to recover his mental 
 and physical equilibrium. He was dazed. He remem- 
 bered once awaking from a terrible dream, with something 
 like a similar feeling of a bitter happiness, a sense of 
 wicked joy, pierced with the sting of remorse. Philip sat 
 on the deck, staring at the sky. There was a young 
 ethereal looking moon. He saw the passengers arriving, 
 and watched them and their luggage being thrust aboard. 
 They seemed to roll down the gangway in a confused 
 mass. 
 
SV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 229 
 
 It was a lovely night. There was not a ripple on the 
 water by the quay, nor outside the bar. He wondered if 
 she had come aboard, or if she would ; wondered with a 
 strange feeling of curiosity ; and one moment he hoped 
 she would not, and the next he hoped she would. 
 
 All at once, when he thought of Dolly Norcott, he felt 
 wretched ; then as suddenly a sense of triumph crept into 
 his troubled brain. To have held the woman of the opera 
 in his arms ! To have stirred the heart of the woman 
 with that sadly beautiful, inscrutable face ! To have her 
 promise that they should meet again ! To have her 
 confession that there had been a time when she could have 
 loved him ! This was tantamount to an encouragement 
 to believe that there might be a time in the future when 
 she would return his love ! All this was delightful ; and 
 yet it was a delight that he felt he had no right to embrace. 
 It was the same kind of delight that belonged to the tragic 
 bhss of Francesca and her lover in the story ; and it was 
 wrong ; his was a worse crime then theirs. He was en- 
 gaged to be married to a sweet and innocent girl. On 
 his way to join her, he had entirely and sinfully forgotten 
 her. He experienced a sudden contempt for himself. For 
 a moment it occurred to him to reflect whether he might 
 not be justified in disappearing altogether from the sight 
 of both women, and betake himself to some distant corner 
 of the globe, the world forgetting, by the world forgot. 
 
 The pleasant breeze that sprung up when the boat was 
 under weigh, refreshed him, and he paced the deck, 
 steadied with a modified sense of the enormity of his 
 conduct. He began to philosophize about it, and to find 
 excuses for himself. A man is not responsible for the out- 
 burst of these sudden attacks of passion, especially if he 
 has been endowed by nature with an excess of feeling, 
 with the temperament of the poet, and who has had no 
 relf-restraining ::;flusnces s-bovit him, no mentor to check 
 
^30 BY ORr>ER OP THE CZAR. 
 
 his exuberance of fancy, none except Dick Chetwynd, 
 who would, Philip felt assured, be rather inclined to regard 
 a severe flirtation as something that might happen to 
 any man, given the opportunity. Mrs. Chetwynd herself, 
 Philip thought, as he drifted into this exculpatory vein, 
 would only have smiled at the idea of his making love to 
 the countess ; and his mother would not have minded it 
 at all so long as it did not interfere with his engagement 
 to Miss Norcott. 
 
 Whether he did these worthy people an injustice or not, 
 this was the new way in which Philip's thoughts now 
 began to sail along over the increasingly calm plain of his 
 mind, just as the moon went sailing along behind the ship. 
 
 Presently he lighted a cigar, went below, ordered a pint 
 of champagne and a biscuit, drank the former, threw the 
 latter bit by bit into the sea as he stood by the gangway, 
 pulling himself together, as the phrase is, and trying to 
 dismiss from his memory the scene in the railway carriage ; 
 and yet all the time he was wondering whether the countess 
 was aboard. He had, in that vague, unwatchful condition 
 previously described, observed the passengers come on 
 deck, and he had not seen either maid, servant, or coun- 
 tess. His curiosity was piqued. He would find out if 
 her ladyship had come aboard. He did find out : she had 
 not. Satisfied of this, he became more contented with 
 his position, and began to find the railway adventure 
 going further and further away as he neared the French 
 shore. He would forget it. He could if he wished. 
 And he could all the more so if he made up his mind to 
 be true to Dolly ; and he would make up his mind. No 
 good could come of his intrigue with the countess. There 
 was some mystery behind her. A scandal perhaps. She 
 had been quite emphatic in her intimation that what he 
 desired could never be. And, as his mother said, she 
 was ten years his senior. Moreover, he could not pursue 
 
SV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 231 
 
 the impulse that had made him rash and unscrupulous 
 without creating a scandal, to say nothing of breaking 
 Dolly's heart, perhaps, and making no end of trouble. 
 
 Yes, whatever happened, he would be guided by what 
 was honorable and wise. He would forget the countess, 
 except in so far as she belonged to his picture. His 
 memory of her should belong only to that. She should 
 be for him an artistic dream. Greater is he who con- 
 quereth himself than he who conquereth a city. He 
 would devote himself to Dolly. 
 
 If Philip had been called upon to criticize the conduct 
 of someone else who had made these vows, after siK:h a 
 lapse of memory in regard to his fiancee, he would pro- 
 bably have said it was all very well to go on protesting in 
 this way in view of a pleasant time with Dolly, the other 
 dear charmer away ; but that if he were Dolly, he would 
 not feel safe of the permanent fidelity of such a lover. 
 
 Poor Dolly ! If she could only have suspected, much 
 less known, what had happened between Philip and the 
 countess on that memorable journey to Dover, she, with 
 indignation and scorn, would have relieved Philip of his 
 vows ; for, despite the worldly streak in Dolly's nature, 
 she had a true woman's good opinion of herself. If 
 Philip had a better opinion of the countess or of any 
 other woman, Philip might have gone over to that other 
 woman, and Dolly would have professed herself glad to 
 be rid of him, however much she might have secretly 
 suffered. 
 
 And Jenny ! Why, Mrs. Milbanke would have made 
 London ring with his unworthiness, even though she 
 would have felt it necessary to say that Dolly broke it 
 off, that she had been over-persuaded to accept him by 
 her family and friends, while really not caring as much for 
 him as a woman should for the man she is willing to 
 marry. Jenny would have kept Dolly's position clear, 
 
2^2 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 but at the same time she would have ** made it hot " foi 
 Philip, as Sam Selwyn would have put it. 
 
 What, by the way, would not Sam have given to have 
 had the encouragement to hope which a knowledge of 
 Philip's declaration to the countess would have war- 
 ranted ? If he could only have had the assistance of Don 
 Cleofas of the two sticks, and have seen the shadow of 
 Philip's insincerity cast forward upon the path which now 
 Ipoked so certain to lead to Sam being one day invited to 
 the wedding reception of Dolly and Philip Forsyth, at 
 Norwood or at Westbury Lodge ! 
 
 By the time Philip reached Paris he had contrived to 
 forget a great deal of what had transpired during the day, 
 or, if not to forget, to so far ignore it as to meet Dolly the 
 next morning at breakfast in the cheeriest holiday frame 
 of mind. And she looked " so awfully nice, don't you 
 know," as Swynford would have said ; so fresh and sweet, 
 so paintable, and so loVable too, as Philip said to himself. 
 Mrs. Milbanke was none the less charming in her matronly 
 fashion. Both of them were dressed in light frocks, sug- 
 gesting a pleasant fussiness of frill and collar, of ribbon 
 and tabs, of dainty flowers at the neck or waist, matching 
 the white apartment of the well-kept hotel. Their rooms 
 looked out upon a courtyard which was gay with tubbed 
 laurel, and tented tables, and bright with April sunshine; 
 April beginning to verge into May, and verging with all 
 due respect to morning dresses, white rooms, open win- 
 dows, and breakfasts alfresco. 
 
 The Milbanke rooms filled one side of the courtyard 
 and VfQxten suite, Philip Forsyth being allotted the furthest 
 chamber, which Walter had made especially pleasant with 
 an addition of a choice box of cigarettes, and Dolly with a 
 jug of roses. They were a very representative party, 
 everybody in the hotel thought, thoroughly English, both 
 as to their complexions and their easy extravagance. The 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 233 
 
 landlady, a plump, cheerful widow of thirty, did nothing 
 but admire them as they came or went ; and she made a 
 point of going into their rooms herself to see that the 
 breakfast was all that they could desire, and it was, from 
 the long brown roll of Paris bread to the spring chicken, 
 half buried in cresses and potato chips. 
 
 Philip had donned a new grey tweed suit, with a white 
 silk neckerchief and brown walking shoes, and was all the 
 handsomer in the eyes of the landlady, and possibly in 
 Dolly's, that he was unusually pale, his eyes more than 
 usually bright, and his black hair more than usually in- 
 clined to straggle over his forehead. If he had had hazel 
 eyes, he might perhaps have been a more stable and 
 reliable lover; but his eyes were blue, as has been pre- 
 viously remarked — a clear blue, which made his face 
 remarkable without the observer at first quite knowing 
 why. His complexion was naturally somewhat sallow ; 
 his eyebrows strong and dark, his hair raven; he was 
 English in his manners and speech ; but in person more 
 like an ItaHan than an Englishman. 
 
 The two or three days of their stay in Paris was a 
 delightful time. Walter Milbanke was the most thoughtful 
 of travelling hosts. He managed everything.. No one else 
 found it necessary to give a thought to anything except 
 enjoyment. Walter anticipated the wants of his party 
 with the consideration of an affectionate friend and the 
 efficiency of the best of courtiers. And what a genial 
 fellow he looked and was ! Always in a good temper ; 
 never argumentative ; that is, not in earnest ; if he opposed 
 anything it was in a spirit of pleasant badinage. He was 
 mostly dressed in a suit of navy blue serge, his coat nattily 
 faced with silk ; and he pinned his dark red scarf with a 
 diamond horseshoe. His thoroughly EngHsh complexion 
 warmed up under the work of piloting and providing for 
 his party, and gave him the appearance of robust health, 
 
^34 J^y ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 which in good sooth he possessed, thanks chiefly to an 
 equable temper and a generous heart. Walking or driving 
 in the Bois, he looked very proud of his wife and friends. 
 Mrs. Milbanke changed her dress twice or three times a 
 day, and was up to date in the matter of fashion, a trifle 
 ahead of it indeed ; for she carried almost the first of the 
 husband quellers, as the club-like parasol handle has been 
 ironically called, and her hat was the tallest and prettiest, 
 too, in all Paris, not even excepting Dolly's, which soared 
 amidst ribbon and flowers, and gave an added piquancy by 
 contrast to the retrousse suggestion, the pretty tilt, as Sam 
 Selwyn would have said, of her incomparably piquant little 
 nose. But, oh her complexion ! It was the envy of every 
 Frenchwoman who looked upon it ; so pink and white, so 
 peach-like, and so real : and her large grey eyes and rich 
 yellow hair ! Mrs. Milbanke was quite justified in admiring 
 her, though she was her sister. 
 
 Philip kept by Dolly's side everywhere, with a quiet 
 appearance of devotion that might have deceived even a 
 cynic ; and it did entirely deceive Mrs. Milbanke and 
 Dolly ; indeed, it deceived Philip himself. In the picture 
 galleries, in the shops of the Palais Royal, at the Comedie 
 Frangaise, on a river trip at Versailles, he was a gallant 
 chevalier and devoted lover. He was at his best in every 
 way. He talked well, was a most entertaining companion 
 for all of them ; knew the histories of the great pictures ; 
 moralized eloquently at Versailles ; talked of the war, 
 interspersing the incidents of the entry into Paris with 
 appropriate reminiscences of his young life in Russia. 
 
 And at night, after the light, elegant supper, which 
 Walter insisted upon as the proper finale to the play, — 
 Philip would take a hand at loo, or whist, or poker, for an 
 hour, and win and lose with a pleasant grace that had not 
 been suspected as one of his special charms. 
 
 *' You never know a fellow until you have traveled with 
 
£Y ORDER OF THE CZAR, 235 
 
 him/' Walter said to his wife on the third night of their 
 stay in Paris (it was on the fourth that they continued 
 their journey towards Venice), " and the more one sees 
 of Forsyth, the more one must Hke him." 
 
 '' It is quite wonderful," said Mrs. Milbanke, " quite ; I 
 am deceived in him ; I would have expected him to be a 
 little exacting in regard to the programme of the day, and 
 a young man of moods and whims ; but he is perfectly 
 amiable." 
 
 '' I am glad you agree with me, my dear," said Walter ; 
 " I never came across a pleasanter fellow, nor one better 
 informed, and, by Jove, if he does not know a thing, he 
 has the knack of seeming to, and of extracting the neces- 
 sary knowledge from some one else, or from a book, or in 
 some way or other just at the right moment ; a thoroughly 
 good-natured, agreeable fellow; Dolly may indeed be 
 congratulated." 
 
 " I think so," said Jenny. " I hope so, and I believe 
 so ; though Sam Selwyn with a big fortune would have been 
 hardly less desirable. There is something I like about 
 Sam ; he is so transparent, so good-natured, and so de- 
 termined to be rich." 
 
 " Have you not liked him a trifle more since he made 
 those two large sums of money ? Eh, now, my darling, 
 confess ! " 
 
 " I have respected him more, Walter, that's all ; and 
 don't you think there was something very considerate and 
 thoughtful in his not proposing to Dolly because he did 
 not believe he had money enough, and saying he would 
 have proposed if it had not for other reasons been too 
 late the moment he was sure of his good fortune." 
 
 " Oh, I like Sam, and we must not lose him as a friend 
 because we cannot have him as a brother-in law." 
 
 " Just so, dear," said Jenny ; and before Walter had 
 finished his next sentence, Mrs. Milbanke was sleeping the 
 
236 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 refreshing sleep of a contented mind. Walter very quickly 
 followed suit. There is an everlasting and non-injurious 
 narcotic.in the knowledge that your banker's balance is all 
 right, and your investments secure. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 DOLLY SEES THAT FACE IN HER DREAMS. 
 
 Although the weather was fine and sunny in Paris, with 
 pleasant promise of May flowers, it was not until our 
 friends had traveled all night from the gay city, to awake 
 the next morning at Ambruel, that the world began to look 
 green and floral. The trees in the Bois, it is true, had put 
 forth indications of green buds ; but the branches were still 
 bare and brown. Here and there on the banks of the 
 Seine there were villages about which fruit trees were 
 beginning to blossom, and everywhere you felt the coming 
 of the Spring, bright and perfumed. But after a night of 
 travel, Philip woke up in the midst of a landscape backed 
 by the mountains of the Savoy, that looked like fairyland, 
 with tall green poplars, running brooks and clusters of 
 picturesque cottages with overhanging roofs, and in the 
 •fields, men and women fixing up poles for the green vines 
 that had begun to need them. 
 
 None of Philip's fellow travelers were up. They had a 
 sleeping carriage all to themselves, with a small dining 
 coupe attached. Philip stood upon the platform of the 
 Pullman car in the early morning, and the incidents of the 
 journey from London to Dover went further and further 
 away in the distance. The continuous travel, and the 
 entirely new surroundings, helped on *' Old Time " and 
 his hour-glass wonderfully. Philip took out his sketch 
 book and began to make pictorial memoranda of the 
 country through which the train was carrying its sleeping 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 237 
 
 passengers with a calm, steady regularity of speed that 
 seemed to be quite in keeping with the panorama. Here 
 and there a river would swell out into lake-like pools, 
 which reflected the adjacent country as in a glass, following 
 which the stream would break out into turgid rushes of 
 yellow turbulent water. Then you would come to the 
 banks of shingle and dots of houses and blue smoke. 
 
 At one place Philip was very busy with his sketch book, 
 the train having slowed up at a signal, and he brought 
 into use a small case of water colors, that he might at least 
 have a note of the bits of delicious color that appealed to 
 the eye and to the imagination. A company of field laborers 
 were at breakfast, men and women ; they had been busy with 
 the vines ; the men wore jackboots, and had handkerchiefs 
 round their heads ; it was in a green and flowery valley 
 with fruit trees in rich blossom ; and for a background 
 there was a double range of mountains, the front range a 
 black battalion, the furthest away range white sentinels, 
 guarding the valleys against the march of Summer, the 
 spring vanguard of which, nevertheless, made its way to 
 the plains with silent tread and gay with floral banners. 
 
 In the valleys there were houses like Swiss chalets ; 
 these repeated themselves now and then ; but not like the 
 mountains, which, as the trains went pounding along, 
 seemed to come and go, and march on and off, like the 
 supers in a theatrical army. Now and then the white 
 peaks would go right up into the sky, as if to challenge 
 the sunshine. Once in a way a streak of silver would 
 appear on the mountain sides ; it was alive, and making 
 its way down the great hills to run off into the meadows 
 at their feet. By and by the country became more and 
 more Italian, softer outlines of foothills, vaster mounts of 
 distant snow. Near one station a company of soldiers 
 were engaged at rifle practice ; and henceforth there were 
 frequent church towers and steeples among the poplars. 
 
238 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 Then came prettier villages and whiter roads, and the vine 
 grew taller ; the sun was more powerful j the train was 
 running into summer weather. 
 
 At Turin the little party breakfasted, and Philip delighted 
 them with his sketches. From Turin the country was 
 green with tall grass and yellow with mustard in bloom. 
 There were miles of pollard willows, and the meadows 
 were white with daisies. There were acres of green wheat, 
 and towns with red roofs, and in the distance still marched 
 the everlasting hills, white at their summits, a blue haze 
 in their valleys. There were wayside stations with red- 
 capped officials, and fields yellow with dandelion. Then 
 came signs of an approach to some large city ; carts and 
 waggons on the highway ; a countryman with greyhounds 
 in a leash, men and women in the fields, picturesque in form 
 and color, the women suggesting Lancashire in their 
 handkerchief head-dresses ; but there were oxen yoked to 
 the plough to take away the English reminiscences. Pre- 
 sently the train pulled up at Milan ; and it was summer, 
 for not only had the locomotive run out of Paris into the 
 city of La Scala and the famous Cathedral, but it had run 
 out of April into May; it was May day, and it looked 
 May Day, and was perfumed as May Day should be. 
 
 Walter Milbanke had timed their arrival and made his 
 arrangements accordingly. It was the dinner hour at the 
 Grand Plotel Continental, a fine new house with a pic- 
 turesque courtyard, courteous officials and the electric 
 light. After dinner, Walter and Philip smoked, while the 
 dear girls, as Walter called them, went through the artist's 
 scrapbook, and traveled the pleasant day over again. 
 
 Looking out into the street beneath their open windows, 
 attracted by a marching band of vocalists, they found 
 that the wedding party of a popular workman was being 
 escorted home by a company of friends, who were singing 
 as they went, which led to a cliat upon wedding customs, 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 239 
 
 and set Jenny and her sister talking of the one wedding, 
 in particular which was already beginning to interest 
 Jenny very much. 
 
 " Of course," she said, when they were parting for the 
 night, Jenny visiting her sister in her white bedroom, that 
 looked out upon the courtyard, '' of course it must take 
 place at Norwood ; it would never do for you to be married 
 from your brother-in-law's house, it would look as if your 
 father and mother were nobodies, as if they were not living 
 in good style \ and they are ; and I think some of our 
 friends will be astonished to see in what good style they 
 do live, and what kind of a house." 
 
 " It is all one to me, as Sam Selwyn would say," re- 
 marked Dolly. 
 
 " Why quote Sam Selwyn, dear ? " asked Jenny, some- 
 what reproachfully. 
 
 " Don't we always quote him when we want to use a 
 good phrase that is more or less slangy? " 
 
 '' Yes, we have that habit, but I don't think it is a good 
 one ; besides, it is just as well that we should try and 
 rehnquish the habit, now that we have finally made up our 
 choice of Philip and let Sam slide." 
 
 " As Sam would put it," remarked Dolly, interrupting 
 her sister with a laugh. 
 
 " Poor Sam," said Jenny, " he is a good fellow, and we 
 must not lose him as a friend ; even Walter is worldly 
 enough to say so." 
 
 " But is there anything particularly worldly in keeping 
 friends with Mr. Selwyn ? " Dolly asked. 
 
 " I don't know ; he will be very rich, everybody says so ; 
 is now, I believe, for that matter." 
 
 " And somehow, after all, much as you preach the other 
 way, Jenny, you do not seem to have quite made up your 
 mind that there is not a chance for Sam yet." 
 
 " Nonsense, Dolly ; how can you say so ? " 
 
240 ^y ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 " I don't know how I can, but I say so because I think 
 so." 
 
 " Then, my darling, pray think so no longer ; I am more 
 than delighted with Philip, I am charmed and astonished." 
 
 " At what in particular ? " 
 
 " At his pleasant manners, his amiability, his devotion 
 to you." 
 
 " Are you ? well, what did you expect then ? What else 
 can he be ? Do we not make ourselves agreeable ? Am I 
 not always ready to listen to all he says ; to be charmed 
 with his sketches ; and who could be anything else than 
 amiable upon such a journey as this, and with such a com- 
 panion as Walter, who thinks for everybody, gives nobody 
 any trouble about anything, even looks after the baggage 
 if necessary, and makes our tour a sort of royal progress ? 
 I cannot imagine the most awful curmudgeon, as Sam 
 would say, being anything but gay under the circum- 
 stances." 
 
 " Oh, I do not know that Philip is gay," said Jenny^ 
 *' but he is happy, contented, ready to do anything we 
 suggest, pleasant, agreeable, and, what is more to the pur- 
 pose, charmed with his pretty little ^^;/^<?^." 
 
 " Then say good-night to his pretty little fiancee^' said 
 Dolly, smiling. " I am very tired, dearest." 
 
 And so they said good-night ; and in this kind of closing 
 chat, which brought all the Milbanke nights to an end, 
 Jenny told Walter that she could not quite make Dolly 
 out ; she really did not quite know whether she loved 
 Philip or not. 
 
 " Love him ! why, of course, she does," Walter replied j 
 " he sat by her all day when he was not sketching ; and at 
 dinner he never forgot to see that she had the best of 
 everything ; and when we looked out and saw that wedding 
 business going on, he was particularly attentive, and he 
 whispered something to Dolly and she laughed. AVhat 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 241 
 
 more do you want, Jenny ? You are so speculative about 
 things." 
 
 *' I love Dolly," she replied, *' with all my heart and 
 soul^ and if she were not happy in her marriage it would 
 break my heart." 
 
 " I know, I know," said Walter, " and it would compel 
 me to drink more than would be good for me, I am sure ; 
 but she will be happy j there are various ideas of happi- 
 ness — to be good is to be happy, the poet says \ angels 
 are happier than men, because they are better, don't you 
 agree with that sentiment?" 
 
 No reply. 
 
 Walter looked up from his bed at the other end* of the 
 room. Jenny was in another world ; prose and poetry 
 were all one to her, as Dolly had been saying of sometliing 
 else — she was asleep. 
 
 " Good-night," said Walter in a whisper j " I think we 
 are having a very pleasant time." 
 
 Philip Forsyth was trying to think so, too. But there 
 was a shadow upon his reflections ; he had got rid of it so 
 long as Dolly and the rest were with him — so long as he 
 could talk — so long as there was change of scene and sub- 
 ject ; but now that he was alone he was once more back 
 in London ; once more with the Countess Stravensky ; 
 once more under the influence of her violet eyes ; once 
 more listening to her deep, sweet voice j once more at her 
 feet morally, poetically, and to his own satisfaction. He 
 tried to shake the pleasant shadow off; tried to think it 
 was not pleasant \ tried to eclipse it with the face of Dolly ; 
 tried to exercise it with the repetition of his vows of love 
 to Dolly, and with his later vows made to himself to be 
 true to Dolly, to love and esteem her, and to forget the 
 woman of the opera-box except as a model, an idea, an 
 artistic accessory, a something outside the affections, a 
 mere acquaintance ; but the god or demon who is sup- 
 
 16 
 
242 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 posed to have power over the heart, who controls the loves 
 of mortal men and women whether they will or no, would 
 not have Anna Klosstock eclipsed by Dolly 
 
 Whether or no Dolly was governed by that fine instinct 
 which is the peculiar possession of women, or whether 
 she had a sneaking kindness for Selwyn, it is not for the 
 chronicler to say ; anyhow, she was not altogether satisfied 
 that Philip loved her as sincerely as he professed ; and 
 when she slept, she had uncomfortable dreams ; and when 
 she awoke, she did so with a shudder, as the imaginary 
 face of the woman in Philip Forsyth's picture faded into 
 the darkness. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 AT VENICE BY MOONLIGHT. 
 
 '* Make the acquaintance of the city of the sea as a matter 
 of choice by sea and in the sunshine," says Yriarte. But 
 approach Venice how you may, or when, her aspect is 
 impressive beyond description. 
 
 If it is magnificent to sail into the lagoons from the 
 Adriatic, it is bewitching to glide into her waterways from 
 the mainland and by moonlight. Furthermore, whichever 
 way you may approach your destination, you will find it 
 equally impossible to analyze the sensations that overcome 
 you ; in the end you will probably turn to Rogers, whom 
 you have hitherto regarded as a writer of mere prose, 
 tricked out in blank verse, and recalling your unjust esti- 
 mate of the banker's muse, will in imagination place a 
 chaplet upon his brows as tribute to the poetic picture of 
 your waking dream. 
 
 " There is a glorious city in the Sea. 
 
 The Sea is in the broad, the narrow streetS| 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 243 
 
 Ebbing and flowing ; and the salt seaweed 
 
 Clings to the marble of her palaces. 
 
 No track of men, no footsteps to and fro, 
 
 Lead to her gates. The path lies o'er the Sea 
 
 Invisible ; and from the land we went, 
 
 As to a floating city — steering in 
 
 And gliding up her streets as in a dream." 
 
 Across the long viaduct that joins Venice to the main- 
 land, the train glided over a world of swamp and marshy- 
 flats that reminded Dolly of the flats about the great river 
 in Norfolk, where it enters into the wide sea. It suggested 
 to Philip some faint memory of the Russian steppes, all 
 unlike though it was ; and while Walter Milbanke found it 
 more Dutch than English, he took especial interest in 
 noting the impressions of the approach to fairyland made 
 upon Philip and Dolly; for he and Jenny knew Italy well, 
 and had already visited Venice on two occasions. Walter 
 was theatrical in his tastes, and he found the approach to 
 Venice like the preliminaries^ to the transformation scene 
 of a Drury Lane pantomime, beginning with dark myste- 
 rious gauzes, that suggest' Cimmerian darkness, swamps, 
 strange waters, and slithery shores of ooze and weed. 
 
 The moon shone upon the vast mud-banks. Far away 
 there was a glimpse of sea ; and further still, a passing 
 hint of a distant sail close upon the horizon ; but no city, 
 no lofty campaniles, no silvery cupolas^ no golden domes 
 and towers; only a morass lighted by the moon, a flat 
 watery waste, through which the panting locomotive seemed 
 to feel its way; and at last when it glided into an ordinary 
 railway station — with gaslights and porters and all the other 
 belongings of locomotive travel — though they had arrived 
 at the glorious city in the sea, to both Dolly and Philip it 
 still seemed further away than ever. 
 
 •* Mr. Milbanke," said a stalwart Italian, stepping up to 
 the party, hat in hand. 
 
 *' Ah, Beppo ! " was Walter's response. 
 
244 ^y ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 " It is a joy to see you," said the Italian ; " I will attend 
 to the luggage.*' 
 
 " Is your gondola here ? " 
 
 " Close by," said Beppo, " and I have my comrade with 
 me." 
 
 " That is good," said Walter, handing him the wraps, 
 which were of the lightest, and at the same time giving 
 him his tickets for the baggage. 
 
 Beppo was a gondolier, picturesquely attired. He spoke 
 English with a soft purring kind of accent. Walter Mil- 
 banke had employed him during his previous visits to 
 Venice ; and on this occasion had also hired Beppo and a 
 comrade, with a special gondola, to be at the disposal of 
 the party during their stay. He had also commissioned 
 an especial uniform, with a bit of color in it, on account 
 of the royal festivities. 
 
 When first Walter had suggested the Italian trip and the 
 Venetian holiday, he had not counted upon arriving at 
 Venice on the occasion of a royal function and a fine art 
 exhibition ; but on discovering that Venice was to be en 
 fSte he secured the best suites of rooms at the Hotel Beau 
 Rivage and a gondola and gondoliers. The larger of the 
 two hotels on the quay was already full of guests, when he 
 made his dispositions for their stay in Venice ; but the same 
 proprietary controlled the smaller house, and here the Mil- 
 banke rooms were ample, and almost facing the grand 
 statue of Victor Emanuel, which the King and Queen of 
 Italy were to inaugurate, and in connection with which 
 ceremony the city was to revive some of her ancient glories 
 in the way of fete and pageantry. 
 
 Presently the Milbankes and the lovers stepped into the 
 Venetian cab. It was lying by the station steps. It had 
 no wheels, nor any horse. It was not *' the gondola of 
 the London streets ; " it was the gondola of Venice, solemn 
 looking enough, but not so solemn as others with their 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 245 
 
 hooded decks. Walter had been minute in his instructions, 
 " for," said he, " I always remember my poor father's first 
 and last visit to Venice ; it was winter, but daylight ; the 
 gondola to him was a floating hearse ; to enter it when it 
 is in its full panoply of service you have to back into it ; 
 my father lost his hat in doing so ; the weather was wet 
 and cold, it rained, the palace where he was lodged was 
 chilled with a little charcoal stove ; the next day he left the 
 city in the sea ; and there you have the prosiest possible 
 idea of Venice." 
 
 " Walter, be stiH," said Mrs. Milbanke ; " the relation 
 of the reminiscence is like throwing a stone at a lovely 
 monument ; don't you see we are afloat ? " 
 
 '' I only wanted to cap Philip's disappointment at the 
 start ; to put the finishing touch to the mudbanks and the 
 stark prosy realism of the railway station." 
 
 Philip made no reply, for by this time they were in those 
 quiet streets, 
 
 ' * As in a dream 
 So smoothly, silently — by many a dome 
 Mosque-like, and many a stately portico, 
 The statues ranged along an azure sky • 
 By many a pile in more than Eastern pride. 
 Of old the residence of merchant kings ; 
 The fronts of some, though Time had shattered them. 
 Still glowing with the richest hues of art, 
 As though the wealth within them had run o'er." 
 
 Philip said not a word. Dolly's hand had somehow 
 found its way to his. She sat beside him. He was wrapped 
 in the spell of his first sight of Venice. She, too, felt the 
 strange witchery of it. Dolly's was not exactly a poetical 
 nature ; but like the dullest of us she had her moments 
 when the mind soars and feels a consciousness of its di- 
 vinity. 
 
 The air was balmy. There was no breeze. The moon 
 shone steadily down upon them. It was an azure sky as 
 
24^ J^y ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 the poet hath it though it was night. The blue was dark 
 but bhie, and the more blue for the one or two silvery 
 stars that twinkled about the silent reflective moon. The 
 queen of night was surely contemplating the queen of cities. 
 " We are the two queens of the world," it might have been 
 saying, so high, so lofty, so dignified, so proud, she looked 
 lip in the heavens j and so majestic, so pathetically majes- 
 tic looked the dreamy city of the sea, where moon and 
 palaces glassed themselves in the calm waters. 
 
 The one or two gondolas that accompanied our friends 
 when they started, disappeared mysteriously round bends 
 of the Grand Canal, where lamps glimmered now and then 
 in a half-hearted kind of competition with lighted windows 
 that sent streaks of gleaming darts or broad beams of yel- 
 low down into the deep, making the rippling wavelets that 
 accompanied the gondola rise and fall with splashes of 
 color that had the effect of molten gold. But this was 
 only momentary ; the gondola slipped and stole along, like 
 some shadowy boat in some imaginary city, where the 
 palaces rose like architectural spectres out of the bosom 
 of the dreaming waters. 
 
 Philip pressed Dolly's band. She responded faintly. 
 Somehow she felt inclined to cry. Walter had lighted a 
 cigar; he had one arm around his wife ; he was thinking of 
 the supper he had ordered, and wondering whether he 
 would ask Beppo to stay and take them out later. 
 
 There was music on the water far away. It fell upon theif 
 ears like the moaning of an ^olian harp. From one of 
 the palace windows there came the ripple of laughter. 
 Beneath the balcony there shot forth from a little canal, a 
 gondola gaily lit with lamps ; it sped away with great swift- 
 ness, and Philip watched the fading lights until they disap- 
 peared as if the sea had swallowed them. How solemnly 
 beautiful it all was ! 
 
 Palaces on either hand, carrying the mind back to the 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 247 
 
 most romantic days of the world's strange life, full of heroic 
 passages of human history, gay with love ditties, red with 
 tragic story, ramping with war and blatant with defiant 
 trumpets. And oh ! how poor the modern lay of the Ve- 
 netian glories, how dim the words that burned, how inter- 
 mittent the thoughts that breathed when Venice has been 
 the theme. Byron, Otway, Musset, George Sand, how flat 
 in comparison with the reality, ran Philip's thoughts ; how 
 wise that American writer, Howells, who did not strive to 
 describe the indescribable, but wrote a book of thoughts 
 and facts and impressions ; for Venice is a fact ; it was a 
 dream to Philip, though he fully realized that it was a fact 
 — it and its palaces, its Doges, its great wars, its rebellions, 
 its Bridge of Sighs and its historic Rialto, its pageants and 
 its pictures, its San Marco of the grand old ancient days, 
 and its Florians of the frivolous present. " But who shall 
 paint it ? " he thought, " and why has the poetic Ruskin 
 tried to catalogue and set forth the details of its beauties 
 as if it were a pile of architectural bric-a-brac ? " 
 
 There was one thing Philip resolved and that was, not 
 to paint Venice. The queen of cities, she was to be sug- 
 gested, not painted ; she was an Undine not to be limned 
 as an anatomical study but to be indicated, to be dreamed ; 
 the very thought of Canaletti's pictures of her serene 
 beauty made him shudder ; but he felt that Turner had 
 understood the city in the lagoons with her sinking sun, 
 her shimmery waters, her white and golden towers, her 
 lazy sailing boats, lumbering in from the sea. Philip was 
 hardly responsible for what he felt or thought. If he had 
 eaten the insane root that takes the reason prisoner, he 
 could not have felt more unlike himself, nor could he have 
 been happier in his dreamy helplessness. In the shadow 
 of a great steamer from the Eastern sea flying the flags of 
 England and the P. and O. they pulled up at the stairs of 
 the hotel ; and on their left, like a great white ghost, was 
 
248 B V ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 the robed statue of Victor Emanuel, waiting the coming 
 of the King and Queen to havt .is fair proportions dis- 
 closed to the people. 
 
 " Supper ! " said Philip, when Walter invited him to that 
 necessary repast. " I feel as if it were a sacrilege to be 
 hungry." 
 
 " Not at all," said Walter. " It would be if I had not 
 taken care to order a repast ; but just as nothing makes 
 one so hungry as a good play or the opera, nothing is 
 more exhausting than the first impressions of Venice. I 
 remember when first I came to Venice, that trip down the 
 canal made me as hungry as my first experience of Don 
 Giovanni." 
 
 Jenny and Dolly appeared at supper with bright eyes 
 and in bright costumes. Dolly was not so radiant as 
 Jenny. The truth is, Dolly was not quite happy. Alone 
 during those last touches of the toilette, which Dolly and 
 Jenny often performed together, Dolly had said to her 
 sister, "I really do not quite know whether Philip does 
 not see a little too much in nature and art outside me, I 
 mean, of course, to be quite happy with me ; I don't want 
 to have nature and art always in competition with fashion 
 and me." 
 
 '* My dear," said Jenny, kissing her, " you are in your- 
 self the highest embodiment of nature and art." 
 
 " Not at all ; if we were both put up to auction, I 
 shouldn't have a chance in competition with one of those 
 old palaces or with a moonlight night on the Grand 
 Canal." 
 
 ** You are a queer girl," Jenny replied, " he will get tired 
 of Venice in a week. Venice is always the same ; a beauti- 
 ful woman is always different." 
 
 *' Now, girls," said Walter, putting his head inside the 
 door, " supper, and shall I keep Beppo for a floating siesta 
 afterward ? " 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 249 
 
 Yes," was Jenny's reply, '^ what is the time ? " 
 
 " Ten," said Walter. 
 
 So Beppo and his comrade ate their polenta and drank 
 a measure of wine, and smoked their cigarettes by the 
 quay, while the merry English party had their supper near 
 the hotel balcony, where you could see Carlo, the head 
 waiter, flitting to and fro in his dress coat, enjoying the 
 chatter of the guests. Beppo and his comrade agreed that 
 the ladies were very pretty girls. Jenny would have been 
 much complimented if she had heard Beppo speaking of 
 her as a girl. 
 
 " They are so free and pleasant," Beppo said, as he lay 
 back in the boat looking up at the hotel windows. " Most 
 English ladies are, they are like our Queen ; she is for a 
 queen wonderfully free and pleasant-spoken. Just the 
 queen for a free people, eh, Bettina? " 
 
 Beppo called his comrade by his nickname Bettina, 
 which had been given to him, because he was supposed to 
 be womanish in his manners and had never been able to 
 grow a beard, but who in his build and in his strong arms 
 was quite unlike a woman : and he was still more unlike 
 in the fact that he rarely talked, only as a rule said" Yes" 
 and " No " when he was not simply content to smile or 
 frown his yeses and noes 
 
 " Yes," said Bettina. 
 
 " She will be here to-morrow, Bettina, and the King will 
 unveil that noble statue of his royal father, Victor Emanuel, 
 under whose banners we fought in the war, Bettina." 
 
 " Yes," said Bettina. 
 
 " And conquered, eh, Bettina ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Bettina. 
 
 " And at the base of it there is Italy in chains and Italy 
 free ; and we helped to break her chains, eh, Bettina ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Bettina. 
 
 "And these English people are our best friends, Bettina, 
 
2SO BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 and when next we have to fight they will fight with us on 
 shore and at sea." 
 
 '* Yes," said Bettina. 
 
 While Beppo was romancing about what Italy would be 
 like after the next great war, the English party came out 
 with pretty cloaks and gauzy wraps upon their arms, the 
 men with cigars in their mouths. Beppo, hat in hand, was 
 ashore in one moment to be handing his passengers into 
 the gondola the next, and helping Walter to arrange ihe 
 cushions so that Dolly and Jenny should be at their most 
 perfect ease, with Walter and Philip at their feet, the moon 
 dancing away down in the sea beneath them, and sailing 
 majestically above them with two attendant stars. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE RED GONDOLA. 
 
 Soon after eleven they were once more afloat, the moon 
 higher and brighter, the water still and silent, the great 
 ocean steamer lying calm and solid at anchor, the opposite 
 island, with the Church of the Maggiore, sleeping in the 
 moonlight ; a cluster of coasting craft lying in the shadow of 
 St. Maria della Salute ; and, as they steered by the steps 
 of St. Mark's, the Campanile, the Moorish towers, and the 
 flagstaff holding communion with the silvery stars. 
 
 Along the water line from the quay, past the Bridge of 
 Sighs, and by the Palace were a row of leafless trees, 
 mechanical contrivances of lamps, which were to be lighted 
 before the week was over. Even these curious additions, 
 artificialities that were singularly out of place, were in- 
 offensive things in the moonlight, which softened their 
 harsh outlines and made them almost picturesque. 
 
 Perhaps it was the Capri that had loosened Philip's 
 tongue. For a time he was a very chatty companion. 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. t%\ 
 
 He talked of the " Merchant of Venice," of the old days 
 of the Rialto, of the Jews and the ghetto (which led to 
 some mention of the treatment of the Jews in Russia), all 
 in a quiet^ un rhapsodical kind of way ; until they arrived 
 at the apocryphal palace of Desdemona. Here there were 
 lights and evidently junkettings, and under the window 
 was a barge crowded with minstrels, who sang the " Fin- 
 iculi Finicula," at which Jenny and Walter were delighted, 
 and afterwards the Ave Maria of Gounod, which came 
 like a sudden and unexpected benediction after the *' Fin- 
 iciili " chorus. 
 
 ^' The Moor has just killed his spotless bride," said 
 Philip, "and this Ave Maria is her dirge." 
 
 And so they lingered here to listen to the music, and 
 them moved slowly on towards the Rialto. 
 
 If Philip could have interpreted the echoes of the 
 revelry going on in that palace under whose balcony they 
 had passed ! It was a reception given by the Princess 
 Radna, wife of the famous General Petronovitch, that made 
 the Desdemona palace gay and festive on this third night 
 of May, the first of Philip's first visit to Venice. The 
 general and the princess were lodged here by the courtesy 
 of an Italian noble, who had something more than his 
 title upon which to maintain the dignity of his ancient house. 
 Venice, and indeed Italy, was distinctly honored by the 
 general's presence here with his lovely wife, during the 
 festival prepared for the King and Queen. The general, 
 it was understood, had a semi-official mission which also 
 flattered the military and naval vanity of the nation. 
 
 A couple of Italian ironclads were slowly steaming 
 through the lagoon to the quay, while the reception was 
 going on to do honor to the sovereign, one of them to be at 
 the disposal of the Russian guest. General Petronovitch, 
 who had won a great reputation both as Governor of 
 Vilnavitch, and as a commander in the field, having in this 
 
^i BY ORDE'k OF TfiE CZAR-. 
 
 Capacity rendered good service against some of the hostile 
 tribes in Central Asia ; and he had married one of the 
 most popular women of the Russian Court, a princess and 
 heiress to great estates. This trip to Venice was con- 
 sidered by the general as part of their honeymoon, and 
 the Venetian ladies as well as the Venetian men were all 
 agreed as to the bride's beauty; it was not Venetian ; nor 
 was it exactly Russian ; it combined the 
 French manners with the reposeful fact v^i 
 Gretchen. 
 
 It was known that the general hac^^^ '•.u'^h for 
 
 the lady's wealth as for her beauty and ner ..^ . ^. jsition 
 at court. He was a universal admirer of the sex, and hard 
 things had been said about his infidelities even during his 
 honeymoon ; but it is a censorious world. There had 
 come to Venice a certain distinguished stranger whose 
 charms had already, it was said, given the Princess Radna 
 cause for uneasiness ; and whose appearance at the Opera 
 the night previously to the princess' reception had divided 
 the attention of the audience with the stage, so exquisitely 
 was she dressed, so radiant were her jewels, so lovely was 
 her red-gold hair, so pathetically beautiful the expression 
 of her deep violet eyes. 
 
 While Philip and his friends were dreaming about 
 Desdemona under her hypothetical balcony, this lovely 
 stranger was just leaving her gondola at the palace steps 
 to be received by the princess, who was already jealous 
 of her — and had protested in vain against being compelled 
 to receive her. In the old days of Venice, when every 
 lover more or less carried his life in his hands among these 
 splendid palaces, with their mysterious windows and 
 alcoves looking out upon dim canals and gondolas that 
 lay hid in shaded nooks, the princess would have had no 
 difficulty in ridding herself of her rival — had the reward 
 been a favor to some lover of whom the general might 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 253 
 
 have had equal cause for dislike, as the princess imagined 
 she had, to hate the lovely stranger. But who knows 
 whether under the inspiration of a great love or an equally- 
 intense hate, the Venice of to-day may not have tragic 
 inspiration enough for a fatal intrigue ? 
 
 '' Could you have believed anything on this earth could 
 be so absolutely beautiful ? " asked Jenny, as the gon- 
 doliers paused by the bridge of the Rialto to permit their 
 passengers to contemplate the Fondaco dei Turchi, upon 
 which the moonlight was falling in silvery splendor, 
 whitening the marble columns of its open logia, and cast- 
 ing a broad, steady reflection upon its antique fagade. 
 What a history there was there to dwell upon ! Walter 
 had looked it up, and was enabled, much to his own satis- 
 faction, to mention its salient points. 
 
 " This is, of course, the old palace restored/' he said. 
 " It repeats the original as nearly as possible. It was 
 built in the thirteenth century by the family of the Palmien 
 of Pesaro. In 1331 it was bought by the Republic and pre- 
 sented to ihe Marquises of Este, Lords of Briare, who 
 gave entertainments h^re, at which Ariosto and Tasso 
 were guests. The Fondaco dei Todeschi, and it is now 
 simply a museum, nothing more nor less, the Museum of 
 Venice." 
 
 '* But many a noble palace along the Grand Canal has 
 come to a worse destiny? " suggested Philip. 
 
 " Oh, yes, and the fact that there are lodging-houses 
 and other show places, in which relics of their glories and 
 miscellaneous bric-a-brac are for sale in the marble halls, 
 make Venice to my mind all the more pathetic," Walter 
 re])lied, with an accent of sorrow in his voice that for a 
 minute or two quite troubled his wife. 
 
 ** What's the matter, Walter ? " she asked. 
 
 " Oh, nothing, my dear ; I was only trying to get into 
 tune with Forsyth, who, of course, is looking at the poetiq 
 side of things, and here the poetic is the pathetic," 
 
254 ^y ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 " Ah," said Philip, " if one only had imagination enough 
 to see the other side of this wonderful picture," as the 
 boat floated once more out of the broad moonlight into 
 the shadow ; '' if one only had the heart to think only of its 
 glories, its pageants, its color, its victories, its laughter, 
 its merry-makings." 
 
 " Yes," said Dolly, thinking she felt all this, but mis- 
 taking the depression that had fallen upon her fancy for 
 something more than the woman's instinct of trouble that 
 was beginning to cloud it. " Yes, indeed, it seems im- 
 possible to think of the happy side of life in those dayj 
 when Venice was mistress of the seas." 
 
 " But you don't mean to say, Dolly, that you are lan- 
 guishing under the shadow of her degeneracy and down- 
 fall ? " remarked Walter briskly. 
 
 " Yes, I am ; at least I feel sad, and I don't know of any 
 other cause for my sadness than lies in the contemplation 
 of these beautiful rem. tin; of greatness." 
 
 " I wonder," thought Pliilip, '• how she would feel had 
 she the cause of tribulation that afflicts me ? " for as in 
 human faces that Jewish face we^wot of was the most 
 tenderly sweet and pathetic, so the sad glamour of it asso- 
 ciated itself in his mind with the ruined palaces, the silent 
 halls, the sleeping moonlight, the whispering waters, the 
 wailing music of this midnight travel. He thought of 
 Milan. The memory of the journey to Dover had grown 
 old. He believed when the locomotive was panting on its 
 way to its Venetian marshes that he was putting miles and 
 miles between himself and temptation. He was resolved 
 that if it were not so, in fact, it should be so in regard to 
 his conduct. Walking with Dolly in the sunshine at 
 Milan, and also when listening to the organ in the great 
 Cathedral, there he had repeated these vows to himself, 
 and liad shown special mirks of attention to the girl who 
 was to be his wife, insomuch thai Jenny had remarked to 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 255 
 
 Walter, " how Philip loves our dear Dolly ; " but Dolly, by 
 that subtle instinct that woman is blessed with, or cursed 
 with, as the case may be, felt the hoUowness of all this, 
 detected the want of a true ring in Philip's loving words. 
 She noted the embarrassment that Philip felt now and 
 then, when the face and memory of the other wom^n 
 obtruded themselves in ttie course of his tender speeches ; 
 and this night, on the Grand Canal, v/hile his thoughts 
 would wander to the Russian-Jewish woman, her heart 
 beat plaintively to her doubts and fears, touched with 
 suspicion and melancholy that she endeavored to debit to 
 the past and its faded glories, to the stories of Desdemona 
 and Juliet, to the mournful episodes of Venetian history, 
 and the emblematical structure of the Bridge of Sighs that 
 seemed to be the natural i)ictorial epilogue to the gloomiest 
 of Italian tragedies. 
 
 " It is difficult to talk," said Philip presently, when 
 Jenny had remarked upon their general silence. 
 
 *' It is not necessary," said Jenny, " we can pretty 
 well interpret each other's thoughts." 
 
 " If we could ! " said Philip with something like a sigh, 
 
 *' And what then .? " said Jenny, laughingly. " I will give 
 you a penny for yours." 
 
 *' You don't bid high enough." 
 
 " I will give you all you dare ask," said Dolly, half jest- 
 ingly, half archly, half in earnest, and with her heart at the 
 moment full of a strange curiosity. 
 
 " Pardon ! " said Beppo, interposing with a drag on his 
 oar, that brought the gondola to a sudden standstill, ** this 
 is the palace where the lady of the red gondola is. staying, 
 very rich, very beautiful, a Russian, arrived here three 
 days since, everybody talking about her. Yesterday she 
 went to the ghetto and distributed a thousand marks 
 among the poor ; and this is her gondola coming from the 
 reception given by the Princess Radna, wife of General 
 
256 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 Petronovitch, the famous Russian general who has come 
 to attend the f&tes to the King and Queen." 
 
 As he spoke there bounded out from beneath Desde- 
 mona's balcony, a gondola, with two rowers, the one at 
 the stern tall and broad of limb, the other lithe and neat. 
 Beneath the awning of the boat reclined the figure of a 
 woman, and apart, in an attitude of respectful attention, 
 that, of a man in evening dress, the gondoliers were in 
 crimson uniform, and red was the prevailing color of the 
 decorations of the boat, which was lighted with one or two 
 lamps, one near the stern falling upon a long drift of 
 crimson brocade that swept through the water like a flag 
 dipped to a conqueror, or the red signal of some tragic 
 thought or deed. The boat swung past them without a 
 cry or salute from the gondoliers of either vessel ; and the 
 Milbankes and Dolly strained their eyes to see the face of 
 the lovely occupant, but 'twas either veiled or in shadow. 
 
 Philip's heart beat with a quick anxiety as he asked in 
 a tone of voice which he strove to make indifferent, " Who 
 is the lady ? " 
 
 " She is called the Countess Stravensky," said Beppo. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 " The Countess Stravensky ? " said Philip, repeating 
 Beppo's information. 
 
 " Yes, sir, a Russian who looks like a Venetian." 
 
 " Your friend ? " remarked Jenny, with a curious note 
 ot' interrogation in her tone and manner. 
 
 " I presume so," said Philip, as calmly as he could, 
 with his heart beating at double quick time, and all his 
 good virtuous resolves evaporating. 
 
 " An unexpected surprise," said Walter. 
 
 " You should surely say an unexpected pleasure," re- 
 
B Y ORDER OF THE CZAR, 257 
 
 marked Dolly, who was instinctively and otherwise jealous 
 of the Russian beauty, 
 
 " Did you know she was coming to Venic6 ? " asked 
 Jenny. 
 
 '' No," said Philip. " I understood she was going to St. 
 Petersburg." 
 
 '' Did she know we were coming to Venice ? " Dolly 
 asked. 
 
 "- 1 don't quite remember ; perhaps my mother may have 
 mentioned it," said Philip, suddenly finding his voice. *' She 
 is no doubt here for the fetes." 
 
 '' No doubt," said Jenny. 
 
 They slackened speed by the Bridge of Sighs, where a 
 barge-load of musicians were entertaining a little cluster 
 of gondolas in which were many merry people, who joined 
 pianissimo in the chorus of " Finiculi, Finicula." 
 
 The moon shone full upon the canal, and the scene 
 had a soothing and fascinating effect. Philip found him- 
 self strangely under its influence. None of the little party 
 spoke for some time. Dolly's hand found its way to Philip's 
 in a timid inquiring fashion. Philip struggled hard to 
 hold it with the sincerity that had a few minutes before 
 actuated all he had said and felt in regard to Dolly and 
 the futute of their two lives ; but the red gondola had left 
 behind it a trail of feverish sentiment, and he was once 
 more in imagination traveling with a certain passenger by 
 train from London to Dover. How mean and untrue he 
 felt all at once, how unworthy of the confidence of the 
 pure-spirited, high-minded, kind-hearted London girl ! 
 
 " We will return now, Beppo," said Mrs. Milbanke. 
 
 " Yes, nadame," said Beppo. 
 
 The two go doliers bent their backs to their work, and 
 the boat rushed through the moonlit waters. In a few 
 minutes they were at the hotel. 
 
 " It is ? showy boat, that red gondola," remarked Jenny 
 ^o Beppo, as he gave her his hand for the shore. 
 
 17 
 
258 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Beppo. 
 
 " But we shall look as smart as that to-morrow, eh, Bep- 
 po ? " said Walter. 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Beppo, grinning ; " your excellency 
 has good taste." 
 
 And he had ; for the next day when Beppo and his 
 comrade took off their hats at the steps and offered their 
 broad palms to assist the ladies into their pretty vessel, 
 both Dolly and Jenny expressed their surprise and de- 
 light. 
 
 " Beautiful ! " said Jenny. 
 
 " What a change ! Is this the same gondola } " asked 
 Dolly. 
 
 Beppo showed his white teeth, and his fine figure was 
 complemented by his fine dress, a rich blue cloth with 
 crimson sash. The gondola was elegantly furnished with 
 blue silk cushions and Oriental rugs, and at the shining 
 steel prow there fluttered a tiny silk Union Jack, the red 
 and blue of which the bluish-green water reflected back 
 again as if in token of amity and admiration. 
 
 It was a glorious day. The sun was far away in a blue 
 sky. There was not a cloud. A pleasant breeze came in 
 a warm genial ripple from the Adriatic. It seemed like 
 an invitation to every sentiment of love and friendship. 
 " All the world is happy," it might have been saying, ''and 
 ihi^ is the loveliest spot in all the world." Philip tried to 
 think so. On the other side of the lagoon the Church of 
 Santa Maria del Giglio was decorated for illumination at 
 night. On the left, beating up towards them were a couple 
 of the great boats of the River Po, with pointed stern and 
 enormous rudder, the sun finding out rich tones in the 
 ridges of their furled sails, the red-tasselled caps of the 
 sternsmen presenting grateful points of color on the black 
 and brown of the hull and deck. 
 
 As Beppo leaned upon his oar, the gondola shot away 
 from the shadow of a great P. and O. steamer gay with 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 259 
 
 bunting and sparkling with tiny lamps. The statue of the 
 King was still enveloped in its white covering like a day- 
 light ghost ; and along the riva the glassy trees ready to 
 be lighted at night had an odd out of place appearance. 
 But there was a gay stream of people walking, and quite 
 as much bustle on the water with flashing gondolas and 
 gay barges getting ready to join in the aquatic procession. 
 Ahead, the Campanile shot right up into the blue sky, the 
 banners of St. Mark's flew in front of that dazzling church. 
 On the right, by the Custom House, a liftle fleet of coast- 
 ers rested at anchor, but with their sails still more or less 
 set, brown and yellow, and here and there decorated with 
 strange devices. The Church of Santa Maria della Salute 
 slept on the water, in spite of its frame work of Vauxhall 
 lamps, which at night were to mark its beautiful architectu- 
 ral lines against the starry sky. Flags were flying every- 
 where. From the windows of the gorgeous palaces hung 
 rich brocades and Oriental draperies, tapestried stories of 
 ancient days. In the balconies were pretty women, and 
 below were picturesque men. Crowds were hurrying from 
 all sorts of by-streets, and boats working their way from 
 all kinds of mysterious canals. 
 
 It was a wonderful scene. It dazed Philip. He had. 
 never beheld anything so impressive in its picturesque- 
 ness. All his memories of Russia, and his recollections 
 of English out-door displays, found nothing to compare 
 with this informal kind of public demonstration, unregu- 
 lated alike as regards the people as it was in regard to 
 the decorations of the palaces, the varied colors of the 
 flying boats, and without a single obtrusive hint of a mas- 
 ter hand in the preparations for the illuminations at night. 
 Nothing seemed to have been designed, and yet every- 
 thing was perfect in arrangement and color, and so over- 
 whelming was the beauty of the architectural avenue 
 through which they were making their way, so superb the 
 
26o B V ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 sunshine, that even the theatrical tokens of the night to 
 come were absorbed, and became unobjectionable. 
 
 There was on all hands a general air of delighted expec- 
 tation. Here and there between the palaces and at odd 
 points, are steps leading to distant water streets, and 
 these were coigns of vantage for the sovereign people, 
 who filled up the open spaces. Among these democratic 
 assemblies were some of the most beautiful women in the 
 world. The poorer citizens of this city in the sea have 
 inherited a physical loveliness, the tradition of which has 
 come down to us from classic history, and which lives in 
 the never dying art of Italy, in the pictur&s by famous 
 masters, and better still in the women of this nineteenth 
 century, who still go about the streets of Venice barehead- 
 ed and with slippered feet. 
 
 Presently the fleet of gondolas and gorgeous barges came 
 as it seemed to a sudden anchor. All the varying and 
 flitting colors of the moment stood still in one spot, as if 
 the finger of Fate had paused in turning life's kaleidoscope 
 to permit of a restful observation of some specially lovely 
 design that had been developed after many changes. It 
 was a happy jumble of artistic form and tone, of radiant 
 color, and subdued hues of brown and blue in the sha- 
 dows. So beautiful was the picture that it looked as if it 
 might fade away at any moment, and leave Leicester 
 Square or the Strand mockingly behind. This is how Phi- 
 lip felt, and how he phrased it in his mind in one of those 
 moments when he was not on the look out for the red 
 gondola. At length the distant whistle of a railway train 
 was heard. Then everybody knew that the King and 
 Queen of Italy, the idols of the people, and justly so, were 
 steaming across the marshes. Next there was a firing of 
 big guns ; then the music of military bands, the air El Rey ; 
 anon there is a movement ashore, and in sympathy there- 
 with a movement on the canal ; at last the picturesque 
 
^y ORDER OF THE CZAR. 261 
 
 chaos begins to assume something like a pleasant irregu- 
 larity of order ; the day's pageant has begun. 
 
 Picture the scene. It is almost impossible to describe 
 it. You might be told the names of every great barge ; the 
 period of the costumes of the rowers ; it would be easy 
 to give you a running fire of historic titles and architectu- 
 ral characteristics of the palaces that are ranged on either 
 side of the procession, each one with a wonderful history ; 
 but by and bye you would begin to skip the record and 
 search for the red gondola. It is therefore best to supply 
 you with material for fancy. You can fill in the details 
 from Ruskin, George Sand, Ouida, Triarte, Howells, Ro- 
 gers, and the established guide books. Get into your 
 mind something of the atmosphere of the most romantic 
 period of the world's history. Think of the haughty Doges 
 in their magnificent robes. Try and realize what Venice 
 was. Then remember what she is, a poetic and pathetic 
 wreck of her imperial greatness — the stage remaining with 
 its gorgeous properties, its superb sets, its noble architec- 
 ture, its glorious sky, the actors dead and gone ; but to- 
 day moved and radiated with the new life of a better age, 
 with nobler aspirations, without, it is true, the inspiration 
 of barbaric and cultured art to make the day shine and 
 glitter with gold and precious stones, yet exhibiting 
 artistic links between then and now. 
 
 Think of these things, and then look around you and 
 note this modern pageant with its relics of the past, its 
 superb costumes, and animated with an ambition quite as:. 
 laudable as that which built St. Mark's and decorated it 
 with beaten gold. Imagine yourself with the Milbankes 
 and Philip and Dolly Norcott in the midst of this proces- 
 sion, the most impressive since the government of the 
 Council of Ten. It is a moving mass of energetic life and 
 brilliant color. There has been nothing so gorgeous on 
 these classic waters since the Carnival pageants of the four- 
 
262 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 teenth century. Among the guests and visitors are repre- 
 sentatives of the most famous of the ancient Doges. There 
 is a family of Greeks who claim descent from a famous 
 chief of Venice. They are here in a gondola decorated 
 after the ancient m.inner, and with their gondoliers attired 
 as in the olden days. Making its way to a prominent 
 position is a stately barge rowed by a dozen men, who 
 might be servants to the Capulets in Romeo and Juliet ; 
 and close by, another that might belong to the Lady of 
 Belmont. Here is the small red fez, the long hair, the 
 slashed sleeves that one has seen so often on the stage and 
 in pictures of the time ; in companionship with the men 
 who are propelling the Greek barge are a party of rowers 
 befrocked as one sees them in the illustrations to Byron's 
 Corsair. 
 
 In competition for place is a superb gondola that looks 
 like an exaggerated toy of gold taken from the top of some 
 giant bride-cake, the rowers in blue sailor costume with 
 yellow sashes. Rising gaily upon the busy waters with 
 swan-like motion in the wake of the rest, and making for 
 the King's barge, is a barge of white and gold ; it is 
 followed by another of blue and white — the white being 
 Venetian lace which trails with the velvet at the stern of 
 the barge, joining many other draperies and brocades, 
 silks, and laces, that dabble the water with color, and add 
 to a reckless generosity of wealth flung hither and thither, 
 as one can imagine in Italian displays of the past. Fore- 
 most among another group of gondolas, is one which is 
 manned with rowers who recall the glories of English 
 county life in the days of Fielding ; a second, not unlike, 
 with servants in plush breeches and tall hats ; a third is a 
 gondola of a barbaric style, with a hood of fantastic shape, 
 and with men fantastically dressed, the whole effect defiant. 
 Imagine these and a hundred other notable boats, gondo- 
 las, barges all making their way to surround the taller 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 263 
 
 vessel of the King with its magnificent golden eagles at the 
 prow and a typical figure of regenerated Italy. You take 
 your glass and you find that around the King's barge are 
 other State vessels^ the Bucentor, for instance, with its 
 tradition of the bridal of the Adriatic ; and all at once the 
 whole throng of aquatic vehicles begin to dance and make 
 their way to the Royal Palace, amidst the discharge of 
 distant artillery and the clash and bray of trumpets. The 
 palaces of the Grand Canal rise up as if from the bosom 
 of the waters. They are brave with color, and alive with 
 excited people. The sun shines. The sky is a pale ultra- 
 marine ; the whole thing a fairy tale ; and so real that it 
 makes more than one of the Milbanke party feel emo- 
 tional. 
 
 Philip is lost for the time being in this feast of form and 
 color. Dolly sits perfectly still by his side. Jenny is up 
 and down twenty times to catch glimpses of the Queen. 
 Walter hands his glass to every one by turns because it is a 
 very powerful one, and he continually thinks he has spotted 
 the best incidents of the show. Long before the cheers 
 from the Rialto have been broken up with other demon- 
 strative sounds they find themselves really part of the royal 
 procession indeed, almost alongside the royal barge, and 
 partaking of a share of the gracious recognitions of both 
 King and Queen, who smile their acknowledgments of 
 every loyal cheer, and bow to many a passing and accom- 
 panying boat. Jenny noticed that the King gazed appro- 
 vingly upon their gondola, because it carried the flag which 
 Italy most honors among the nations. 
 
 At the height of the enjoyment which Mrs. Milbanke 
 felt in being so near the royal barge, the spirits of the 
 party were somewhat dashed (though none of them ex- 
 cept Philip could quite explain why they felt the shadow 
 of the incident fall upon them more than upon any other 
 boat) by the sudden appearance of the red gondola. It 
 
264 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 came shooting forth from one of the little canals right into 
 the midst of the procession, and attracted universal atten- 
 tion. It stood out from the rest, not only on account of 
 its positive color, but for the singular distinction of the 
 lady who sat enthroned at the bow, in a simple silken cos- 
 tume of white silk and Venetian lace, her gondoliers in red 
 and black, with velvet caps ; and her secretary, Signor Fer- 
 rari, in the ordinary morning dress of the time. 
 
 The red gondola took up a position near the royal and 
 state barges, and alongside the yellow and black gondola 
 of the Russian general and his wife, the princess. The 
 general bowed to the countess with much empressement, 
 the princess contented herself with the slightest recogni- 
 tion that might pass for courtesy. The countess, Jenny 
 declared, fairly ogled the general ; but Jenny did not like 
 the countess, and might have exaggerated the expression 
 of the countess' face. Philip noticed that the countess 
 was also honored by the gracious smiles of the King and 
 Queen. He would not admit to himself that there was 
 something in the glance of General Petronovitch that he 
 did not like ; but he had not seen how the countess had 
 appealed to the vanity of her distinguished co^itryman (if 
 a Jewess may be said to have a country or a countryman 
 outside the pale of her co-religionists), in the drop of her 
 violet eyes and the play of her ostrich fan. 
 
 When the procession arrived at the canal steps of the 
 palace, the red gond(3la had vanished as rapidly as it had 
 previously appeared, for no sooner had their Majesties 
 landed, than Jenny and the rest^ looking round for the red 
 gondola, did not find it. Beppo, guessing their disap- 
 pointment, remarked that Madame the Russian, who 
 looked like a Venetian picture out of its frame for the occa- 
 sion, had directed her men to make for the Fazio Palace 
 the moment the King and Queen had left their barge, and 
 he must own that they were- a couple of clever gondoliers, 
 
B V ORDER OF TfJE CZAR. 265 
 
 though he had not seen either of them on the canal for 
 years \ curious men ; Jews he thought, born in Venice, but 
 of a roving disposition ; fought in the war, brave enough, 
 but rolhng stones, never know where to have them ; and 
 so on, Beppo talking to himself as much as to Walter and 
 the rest. 
 
 The reader of the first chapter of this section of our 
 story has already met one of the men of whom Beppo was 
 speaking — Paul Petroski (with the strange sinister face 
 that was comedy on one side, tragedy on the other), com- 
 missioned for Venice by Anna Klosstock in the room of a 
 back street in Soho. The other man was the friend he 
 had mentioned at the London meeting of the Brotherhood, 
 and both are here to obey the orders of Anna Klosstock 
 and Andrea Ferrari, in a great cause. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 PLOTTERS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 The two gondoliers of whom Beppo had spoken in com- 
 plimentaryiiierms as to their skill and bravery passed the 
 Milbanke party in the hall of the Beau Rivage after ifce 
 procession had broken up. They were guests in the house, 
 as the Milbankes and Philip were ; but they occupied 
 apartments with the servants of the hotel, and took their 
 meals humbly with them, supplementing, however, their 
 polenta and fish with a bottle or two of Chianti, and enter- 
 taining their fellows with stories of the war, and incidents 
 of their apocryphal travels. They all agreed that the 
 King was worthy of his father, and that Italy enjoyed an 
 exceptional liberty, won by the courage and with the blaod 
 of the sovereign people. 
 
 While Paul Petroski and his comrade were discussing 
 politics and Chianti, the Milbankes were recalling the 
 
266 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 incidents of the morning over afternoon tea in the best 
 room of the little hotel, the balcony of which overlooked 
 the riva and was nearly opposite the linen-covered statue 
 of Victor Emanuel, which his son and the Queen had 
 arrived in Venice to inaugurate. 
 
 The countess and Ferrari at about the same time were 
 in council at the Fazio Palace, in a back room that over- 
 looked a canal more than usually gloomy, more than 
 usually confined, but the waters of which were more than 
 usually swift, probably the result of the narrowness of the 
 channel, which hardly seemed to give room enough for 
 two boats to pass. Here also was a balcony, very diffe- 
 rent from that of the Hotel Beau Rivage, with its open 
 view of the Lido in front and on the left the blue waters of 
 the Adriatic. This balcony was spacious. It looked upon 
 the dead wall of a dead palace, dead as the Doges who had 
 visited its once illustrious owner ; dead as the valiant in- 
 scription beneath its Oriental portico ; dead as the decay- 
 ing poles at its bricked-up doorway. 
 
 You could hardly see the sky between the two palaces, 
 unless you looked down into the water that reflected the 
 grey lichen decked walls. As you turned your eyes to and 
 fro and inspected the locality, you could realize the truth or 
 probability of all the Venetian love stories you had ever 
 read ; you felt that this spot above all you had seen was 
 made for romance, for intrigue, for silken ladders, for mys- 
 terious gondolas and serious masqueraders. 
 
 The Fazio Palace had recently been restored in parts. 
 The front, which gave upon one of the most important 
 branches of the Grand Canal, was radiant with gold and 
 bright with restored frescoes ; but the back, with its bal- 
 conies upon the narrow way to which reference has been 
 made, remained just as it was in the days before Falerio ; 
 and the rooms of this out-of-the-way wing were also more 
 or less in a state of dilapidated picturesqueness. The 
 
^y ORDER OF THE CZAR, 26y 
 
 Countess Stravensky liked the privacy of the balconied 
 room, away from the general staircases, with its picture- 
 panels, and its tapestried vestibule. She had examined the 
 place with Ferrari, and had found a doorway provided with 
 great oaken shutters that completely isolated this portion 
 of the palace ; and here the countess had set up a boudoir 
 where she could be private at any time ; where she could 
 read and write without the possibility of disturbance, 
 and where, if she desired it, she could receive a guest in 
 secret. 
 
 " You have done your work most excellently and com- 
 pletely," said the countess, who had changed her proces- 
 sional dress for an easy tea gown. " I thank you for your 
 devotion, and applaud your taste." 
 
 Ferrari bowed his head and drew the curtain of the 
 vestibule. 
 
 " It is all we could desire, you think so ? '* 
 
 He showed her a little room inside the vestibule which 
 might have been a dungeon, so thick and strong were its 
 walls, so dim its light, and so generally gruesome its atmo- 
 sphere. 
 
 " What tragedies have been done in this strange weird 
 city of the sea," said Anna, as she looked into the room. 
 
 " Mere stage-plays compared with those of the Kremlin, 
 the House of Preventive Detention, Schluusselberg, the 
 Ravelin of Troubetzkoi, and the bagnios of Siberia." 
 
 " Yes," she replied. " Yes, and the mines ; but I was 
 thinking just at that moment, Andrea, of romance. Last 
 night I was reading Byron ; and this morning these Stories 
 of the Bridge of Sighs." 
 
 She took up a new book as she spoke, but Ferrari only 
 said : — 
 
 *' I am glad you entirely approve of all this," and as he 
 said so his ferret eyes glanced from the window to the 
 "vestibule, from the vestibule to the countess. 
 
268 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 " It is well," she replied. " I will rest now." 
 
 Ferrari left the room for a minute, returning with a 
 number of letters. 
 
 " These are the last replies to your invitations for Mon- 
 day." 
 
 " Thank you," she said. 
 
 He placed them upon a table inlaid with various mar- 
 bles. 
 
 *' You are not well? " he said inquiringly. ''Did you 
 see the gondola with the two English ladies, and the Bri- 
 tish flag?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I thought otherwise." 
 
 " I saw it," she replied, " and he saw me. It makes 
 me sad, dear friend." 
 
 The accent with which the countess spoke gave an 
 added tone of pensiveness to the expression of her words. 
 Ferrari, accustomed to her manner and her moods, did not 
 notice this perhaps, but he felt that there was a softness in 
 her tone of voice which was unusual. He had long en- 
 joyed the privilege of an intimacy that gave him perfect 
 freedom to say whatever he thought well for Anna and the 
 cause in which they were both engaged. Never once had 
 he made love to her ; never once had he dreamed of doing 
 so. From the first moment of their renewed acquaintance 
 after the tragedy of Czarovna she had made him under- 
 stand that the relationship between them might be that of 
 a man's friendship, the bond of two souls pledged to ven- 
 geance upon their mutual enemies, and more particularly 
 in her case upon one who seemed until the last few months 
 destined to elude their best laid plots and snares. By a 
 tacit understanding they were to each other simply devoted 
 friends and fellow conspirators ; they had in their memories 
 the conflagration at Czarovna ; but above all the knout 
 and the steppes and the prisons of Siberia. 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 269 
 
 F'errari's devotion to the Brotherhood of which we have 
 already heard had nobler springs than Anna's, who had 
 but one dominant passion of revenge. They had both 
 found their companionship a comfort in its way, because 
 they could both make allowances for each other. Ferrari's 
 memory for Anna's once happy home and its desolation, 
 was as fresh as if he had seen her lover beaten to death 
 and the lashes of the knout falling on her own fair flesh 
 only yesterday. They were companions in adversity and 
 plots of vengeance ; in a desire, also, to help their people ; 
 but there the union of mind and hope and thought ended, 
 it had nothing to do with love, nor had Anna shown the 
 least sign of the revival of woman's tender feelings since 
 she left the Russian hospital until she met Philip Forsyth ; 
 her marriage to Count Stravensky being a political mar- 
 riage, solemnized, as we know, on the death-bed of the 
 rebel count. 
 
 " He saw you ? " said Ferrari. 
 
 " Yes, I think so," she replied. 
 
 " Did he know you were coming to Venice ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " You knew he was coming ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You have no secret from me in this, eh ? " 
 
 " None," said Anna. 
 
 '* You traveled with him from London to Dover ? *' 
 
 *' Have I not said so ? " 
 
 *' He loves you, eh ?" 
 
 *' I think he does, in a mad boyish fashion that belongs 
 rather to your Italian country than to England." 
 
 '' And you ? " 
 
 " Ah, Ferrari, I thought I was a heroine. I thought the 
 woman in me was dead and gone ; it is not. Do you not 
 think this English youth is like what our dear young rabbi 
 Wasi>" 
 
270 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 *• I am glad you speak of him as a youth," Ferrari 
 replied. 
 
 ♦'Why?" 
 
 ** Because you will regard his passion as that of a boy, 
 and not let it move your woman's nature that you speak 
 of." 
 
 " But, Andrea, it has, it has ! I am miserable as a con- 
 sequence, miserable. I have the feeling of a dream that 
 blots out all but my father's house in the sweet time you 
 know of." 
 
 " Before I came and pulled it all down about you." 
 
 " No, no, Andrea Ferrari." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I say, it was I. But for me you would have 
 been happy ; it was I who gave the excuse for butchery, 
 and worse — and worse," he repeated significantly. 
 
 '* No, no ; some other excuse would have been 
 found." 
 
 " But why this confession, Anna Klosstock, Countess 
 St raven sky — why ? " 
 
 " Not to alter our plans, Andrea, but to relieve my 
 mind." 
 
 " If I had not been old enough to be your father," said 
 Ferrari, sitting by her side and taking her hand, " old 
 enough, but not good enough ; if I had been young and had 
 been made for what women call love, it would have been 
 well. Anna, if we could have joined what is called hands 
 and hearts.' 
 
 " And would yon after what you say is worse than but- 
 chery ? And would you with the brand of the knout upon 
 her?" 
 
 " Ah, my child," Ferrari replied as if they were discussing 
 a more or less ordinary matter, " that brand is an honor. 
 But you love this English painter, eh? Is it so after all 
 your vows, after your pledges, and with the work you have 
 Xq 4o tot is so far away from such ideas, and the hottest 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 271 
 
 of it so near? Well, well, and yet we go on trusting wo- 
 men in the Brotherhood. Then the English youth must be 
 one of us, eh ? Is that what you mean ?," 
 
 '' No, no ! Not for worlds ! " 
 
 " What then? " 
 
 " I know not j but have no fear about the cause and the 
 work. I feel better for what I have said. And now to 
 sleep and dream." 
 
 " And get rest, the needful armor of battle and victory." 
 
 She took from a small cabinet a phial, poured a few drops 
 into a wineglass of water. 
 
 "Au revoir," she said. "Order the gondola one hour 
 before midnight. We shall take him on board at eleven." 
 
 ' Him ! " said Andrea, his thoughts on Philip. 
 
 " Him ! " said the countess. 
 
 " But whom ? " asked Ferrari. 
 
 " General Petronovitch," she replied, laying her hand 
 upon Ferrari's arm. 
 
 '' Yes," he said. 
 
 " Paul will find a person in the dress of a civilian stand- 
 ing near the ferry by the Rialto ; when the gondola appears 
 he will raise his right hand ; Paul will take him on board 
 and row towards the Lido until I tell him to return. The 
 general will alight here." 
 
 " Here ! " 
 
 " At the front entrance of the palace, and will then take 
 his leave ; he will desire to enter, but I shall give him the 
 rendezvous for Monday night an hour before the recep- 
 tion." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; that is understood. Countess, forgive me 
 if I doubted you for one moment, your courage, your word, 
 the fulfilment of your oath to me, and to the dead." 
 
 ** Call me Anna, friend," she replied. " I forgive you, 
 Andrea Ferrari. Send Marie to me at ten, I shall sleep 
 until that hour." 
 
27* BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 "One word," said Ferrari. ''Should he recognize 
 you ? " 
 
 " It is impossible, I tell you. I have told you so a 
 hundred times. Who could recognize the Queen of the 
 Ghetto, the simple modest know-nothing of Czarovna, in 
 the Countess Stravensky ? " 
 
 "I recognized you." 
 
 " But you knew the count." 
 
 '* Petronovitch knew the count." 
 
 ** But not as you knew him — not as one of us." 
 
 '' You feel safe in this ? " 
 
 " Perfectly," she replied. " Petronovitch thinks me dead. 
 Who that had seen me borne to the hospital could think 
 otherwise ? " 
 
 " Who indeed, poor soul ! " said Ferrari. 
 
 " Then be of good cheer," she replied. " All will be 
 well." 
 
 "I kiss your hand," said Ferrari, his face brightening. 
 ** You are worthy to lead the Brotherhood." 
 
 *< Even the sun has its dark clouds, Andrea. I shall not 
 play you false. Look to yourself, and put your discreet 
 soul into the minds of Paul and his comrade. And now 
 I must sleep." 
 
 As she said this, she drew aside a portiere opposite the 
 vestibule and disappeared. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 SHADOWS FALL ON THE MERRY SISTERS. 
 
 If this were a history of the Venetian f§les, the glories 
 of the Art Exhibition, the inauguration of the Victor 
 Emanuel Statue, the launching of Italian gunboats and the 
 magnificent incidents of peace and war, of which these 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 273 
 
 events were incidents in what might be called the grand 
 denouement of Italian unity, the author would have to 
 dwell upon details that belong rather to the journalist and 
 the historian than to himself. The task would be pleasant 
 enough, the general subject of sufficient importance for 
 accuracy of date and circumstances ; but the occurrences 
 in question belong to this present narrative only by way 
 of accessory fact and color. 
 
 It will be sufficient in respect of the adventures we are 
 chronicling to say, at this point, that after many days of 
 busy preparation the night of illumination came, a night 
 fraught with tragic significance to certain of the actors in 
 the drama of the life of Anna Klosstock. The King and 
 Queen had performed their important and interesting 
 functions, and the municipality and citizens of Venice had 
 prepared the last of the impressive demonstrations of the 
 week — the after-dark decoration of the city. 
 
 Looking from the balcony of the hotel on the Riva degli 
 Schiavoni a wonderful sight was spread out before our 
 friends, the Milbankes and the lovers. The city in the sea 
 with ships and boats all one lurid blaze of light above, the 
 moon looking on with its calm attendant stars. The 
 island and church of San Giorgio Maggiore loomed up 
 from the lagoon, the shore lying in dark shadow, the quay 
 alive with people walking between a long row of blazing 
 Marguerite daisies in honor of the Queen Margherita, the 
 church made strikingly distinct in its outline of pale green 
 lamps which were in delicate contrast to the Bengal lights 
 of some adjacent shipping. In the centre of the island 
 the Lion of St. Mark's stood out against the sky, flanked 
 with the letters U. and M. in colored fires. 
 
 On the left, looking down the lagoon, the Peninsular 
 and Oriental steamer was gayer than the two Italian war 
 ships lying off the Arsenal, the English captain having 
 converted bis slumbering vessel into something that might 
 
 \% 
 
274 ^y ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 have been fairy-like_, but for the tremendous solidity of the 
 steamer's ponderous hull, marked out with rippling fires 
 and bearing aloft, in emblazonry of lamp and transparency, 
 the flags and banners of Italy and Great Britain. 
 
 As far as the eye could reach on the right, away past 
 the Bridge of Sighs, the steps of Saint Mark's, the Campa- 
 nile, the Custom House and the famous adjacent church 
 of Maria della Salute, the air was luminous with artificial 
 light, and the water was alive with every class of boat and 
 gondola, each vessel bearing variegated lamps of every 
 shape and color. " Songs and choruses came up to the 
 Riva balcony in a curious complication of discordant 
 sounds, with now and then flashes of melody ; the 
 National Anthem, and the cheering, defiant strains of that 
 Neapolitan melody, the " Funiculi, Funicula," which had 
 made so strange an appeal to the sentimental mind of 
 Philip Forsyth, 
 
 It was not yet the hour at which they were invited to 
 the Countess Stravensky's reception at the Palazzo Fazio. 
 The idea of this brilliant function was to swell the moon- 
 light parade of boats with a distinguished company be- 
 tween ten and eleven, at which time it was understood 
 that the King and Queen would enjoy the scene and 
 take part in it incognito. 
 
 Walter, Philip and Dolly were so much overcome 
 with the scene before them, that, judging by their silence, 
 they were at the moment indifferent to the social de- 
 lights which Jenny anticipated at the Fazio Palace. 
 
 Philip, however, was far more engrossed in the possi- 
 bilities of the future than in the contemplation of the 
 present. His state of mind might be described as drift- 
 ing. It was like a boat upon some calm, fascinating 
 stream, making its way with the current, without compass 
 or rudder, and content to glide on, fanned by perfumed 
 breezes and lulled with gweet narcotics. 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. fJPS 
 
 Dolly found herself a little out of tune with the situation. 
 She realized that Philip was intensely absorbed, and that he 
 answered her observations mostly in monosyllables. 
 
 Walter chatted and pointed out artistic effects, artificial 
 and natural, and Jenny remarked more than once how 
 kind it was of the Countess Stravensky to give them the 
 opportunity of seeing a phase of Venetian life, which 
 otherwise might have been outside their experience. 
 
 Continental aristocracy, Jenny went on to reflect, were 
 less bound to the wheel of fcrmality than the English. 
 The countess had evidently the moment she heard of 
 their presence in Venice despatched her messenger and 
 cards to them without delay. It was a gracious piece of 
 courtesy on her part, none the less pleasant that they had 
 to thank Philip for it. 
 
 It may be said at once, for the reader's information, that 
 the countess had a generous object in view when she in- 
 vited Philip, the Milbankes and Miss Norcott to this 
 reception. 
 
 She well knew that if ever there had been the slightest 
 chance of a response on her part to the declaration of 
 Philip, the tragic incident of the night had placed between 
 them a still wider gulf. She was anxious to emphasize the 
 finality of their separation by her marked reception of 
 Miss Norcott as his fiancee^ and by other indications of 
 the purely Platonic sentiments she entertained towards 
 him. 
 
 Philip, however, as the time approached for Beppo and 
 his comrades to carry their English passengers to the 
 Fazio Palace, found his thoughts drifting as far away from 
 Dolly as they had drifted down the torrent of passion dur- 
 ing that never to be forgotten journey from London to 
 Dover. 
 
 '* It will be very interesting," said Jenny, addressing 
 Philip, ** to see what society is really like in Venice, 
 
276 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 When I was here before with Walter, we saw a little of it, 
 but it was mostly professional; tainted, I might say, if 
 Walter will forgive me, with business connected with a 
 curious international law-suit." 
 
 '^ In which I succeeded for my clients," chimed in 
 Walter 
 
 " Of course, of course," said Jenny, "that goes without 
 saying, and your Venetian friend had indeed quite a touch 
 of the grand manner of the ancient advocates who, I sup- 
 pose, pleaded before the Doges." 
 
 " Why, my dear," interposed Walter, " and I mention it 
 on the authority of Mr. Howells, in whose Venetian life 
 you so delight, the best people in the best society in 
 Venice are advocates ; an order of consequence, as you 
 suggest, even in the times of the Republic ; although shut 
 out from participation in public affairs by a native Go- 
 vernment, as it was, when Howells lived in Venice, by a 
 foreign one." 
 
 " Austria was in authority then, I presume," remarked 
 Philip, who endeavored to take at least a perfunctory 
 interest in the conversation. 
 
 " Yes," said Jenny. 
 
 " Daniel Manin, the President of '48," continued 
 Walter, ** was of this professional class which, to quote 
 your Republican friend again, ' by virtue of its learning, 
 enlightenment, and attainments, occupies a place in the 
 esteem and regard of the Venetian people far above that 
 held by the effete aristocracy.'" 
 
 " Then I begin to fear we may have seen on our pre- 
 vious visit what may be called the best society in Venice," 
 said Jenny. 
 
 " Not at all," Walter replied ; ** the present is a very 
 exceptional occasion. You will meet to-night not only 
 the best people in Venice, but the best in Italy ; eminences, 
 great generals, distinguished men and woix^en of all 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 277 
 
 classes, not to mention notable representatives of the 
 foreign embassies. General Petronovitch and his beauti- 
 ful Russian wife, a princess in her own right, I believe^ 
 are to be present. I think Philip can tell you something 
 of these Italian guests." 
 
 " I have no acquaintance with them," said Philip. " I 
 once heard Lady Marchmount speak of them. Petrono- 
 vitch was the Russian governor who, I believe, put down 
 the rising against the Jews some years ago in Southern 
 Russia. He also rendered some great services to the 
 Czar in Central Asia. Should there be another great 
 European war, it is understood that he will hold a promi- 
 nent command. He has been decorated by the Czar, and 
 is probably entitled to the distinction of ' Prince,' but he 
 is simply known as General Petronovitch ; very wealthy, 
 very powerful, and fortunate in his marriage." 
 
 Philip went on talking in this strain, without taking any 
 particular interest in what he was saying. Dolly sat look- 
 ing out upon the lagoon. 
 
 "The Jews, by the way," said Walter, '' hold quite an 
 exceptional position in Venice. Next to the advocates in 
 position come the physicians. Both are, as a rule, men of 
 letters, and write for the newspapers, and many popular 
 doctors are Hebrews. Howells mentions that even in the 
 old jealous times, the Jews exercised the art of medicine, 
 and took important rank. Oddly enough, the Venetian 
 doctors pass most of their time sitting upon the benches 
 in the pretty and well-furnished apothecary shops, where 
 they discuss politics and art. Each physician has his 
 own favorite apothecary, and has his name inscribed there 
 on a brass plate against the wall, and, as a rule, if he is 
 wanted, it is, as a rule, at the apothecary's that mes- 
 sengers seek him." 
 
 ** You have read your ' Venetian Life ' as carefully as I 
 have," remarked Jenny, laughing. 
 
27B BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Walter, " I always make a point of 
 knowing as much as possible what has been said and 
 written about the places I visit." 
 
 '' When shall we see your proposed studio, Philip ? " 
 asked Jenny, suddenly changing the conversation into a 
 fresh channel. 
 
 " Oh, in a day or two, Mrs. Milbanke," said Philip. " I 
 have been too much absorbed in the beauties of Venice 
 to think of it at present, but next week we will look the 
 place up. My friend is away, but the keys are at my 
 disposal." 
 
 *' You will want models, of course ? " said Jenny. 
 
 '' Yes," said Philip, " and I hear they are plentiful. 
 But Dolly is to be my first sitter. I think she will be 
 quite as Venetian as the ladies in Mr. Fildes' pictures." 
 
 '' Oh, do you think so? " said Jenny. " You do not like 
 Mr. Fildes' Venetian studies ? " 
 
 " Indeed I do," Philip replied. " They are pictures Xo 
 live with ; might have perhaps a little more of the dreamy 
 pathetic atmosphere of the Ocean City in them, but there 
 is all its spirit of beauty and color, I fancy. It is very diffi- 
 cult to criticize pictures of Venice. It seems to me almost 
 a desperate thing to attempt them ; and yet I should think 
 the highest inspiration that can come to the painter should 
 be found here." 
 
 Philip talked fairly well when he took up his cue, but ft 
 was painfully apparent both to Walter and his wife that 
 Dolly took little or no interest in the conversation. 
 
 " What is the matter, Dolly ? " asked Walter. 
 
 '' The matter," she said, turning her gaze from tne opere 
 window to the questioner. " Nothing is the matter. I 
 suppose I feel as Philip felt last night on the Grand Canal,, 
 that there are scenes in the world so beautiful and sur- 
 prising that they are apt to make one silent rather thaa 
 Ulkative." 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 279 
 
 ^'' It is indeed a marvelous sight," said Philip, *^ and I 
 quite sympathize with Dolly." 
 
 *' But it seems to me," said Jenny, " it is an entirely 
 different thing from our first night's experiences. AH is 
 gaiety, brightness and light to-night ; lanterns and music 
 and festivity. I don't see why this shooild make anyone 
 sad." 
 
 " Not sad exactly," said Dolly, but silent." 
 
 "Oh, nonsense, nonsense ! " Jenny replied, getting up 
 and putting her arm round Dolly's waist. '' You are not 
 well, or something is the matter. Perhaps Mr. Forsyth 
 can tell us." 
 
 " Dolly is a little pensive, that is all, I think," said Philip. 
 " Tired, perhaps ; we have done a good deal to-day, you 
 must remember." 
 
 " And have a good deal more to do," said Jenny. 
 *' Come with me, Dolly ; you must lie down for ten minutes, 
 and a little Eau-de-Cologne will refresh you. Walter and 
 Philip will excuse us." 
 
 Jenny accompanied Dolly to her room, where Dolly, 
 very much unlike her usual self, laid her head upon Jenny's 
 shoulder and burst into tears. 
 
 " I knew something was the matter," said Jenny. 
 " What is it, my dear? " 
 
 *' I don't know," said Dolly. " I fell vexed and dis- 
 appointed, and I hardly know why. Philip is very kind 
 in his way, but very different from what I should have 
 expected." 
 
 " In what way, my love ? " 
 
 " I don't want to be engaged to a morbid, dull, dreamy 
 person, who talks of nothing but serious things — destiny, 
 the mysteries of the soul, the higher missions of life, and 
 all sorts of subjects utterly out of place on a holiday such 
 as this." 
 
 '' But, my dear, why don't you tell him so. You should 
 lead the conversation into the direction that pleases you." 
 
28o BY ORDEk OF THE CZAR. 
 
 "I can't," said Dolly, wiping her eyes and standing 
 erect. " I feel as if he was talking for the sake of talking. 
 There seems to be no sympathy between us, no thoughts 
 in common. If I try to speak about music and art, and re- 
 member some of the great names and achievements of 
 Italy, he caps me with some far wiser thought than mine, 
 and does it, it seems to me, in a patronizing manner, as if 
 I were a fool. But I will not bear it. If he is as dis- 
 appointed as I aniwiththeengagementaboutwhichsomuch 
 fuss has been made, I would like him to break it off at 
 once. Don't give me Eau-de-Cologne, I don't want it." 
 
 " My dear, my dear, you are beside yourself! At least 
 put a little Eau-de-Cologne on your handkerchief and 
 bathe your face. Your eyes are red, and you will be 
 positively unpresentable at the Fazio Palace if you do not 
 lie down and calm yourself." 
 
 " Very well, I will. Do forgive me, Jenny. I am very 
 miserable. I meant to be very happy, and I will yet, in 
 spite of Mr. PhiHp Forsyth. Cannot you see how strange 
 he is ? Of course you can — talking in that highly superior, 
 poetic, dreamy, silly, idiotic way about Venetian models 
 and rubbish ! " 
 
 Dolly's fair face flushed with anger. She hardly knew 
 what she was saying. But it is the privilege of the novelist 
 to know something of what was passing in her mind. She 
 could not help thinking how differently Sam Swinford 
 would have behaved ; what a merry party they would have 
 been ; how many pretty shops they would have visited ; 
 what ices at Fiona's they would have enjoyed ; what water- 
 parties, what theatres, what gaiety ! Sam Swinford would 
 not have left Walter to initiate everything on a trip of this 
 kind; he would have been foremost with his pleasant 
 suggestions, his passing jokes, his ever-open purse, his 
 genial thoughtfulness, his anticipations of every possible 
 want or desire that would have occurred either to her or to 
 Jenny. 
 
. BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. ,281 
 
 It is quite possible that even in this direction of pleasant 
 companionship she might not have had to find fault with 
 Philip Forsyth, had not that erratic genius had the mis- 
 fortune to meet the Countess StravenskL 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIL 
 
 PETRONOVITCH AND THE COUNTESS. 
 
 Comedy indeed walked hand in hand about Venice this 
 night, the strange beauty of which the Milbankes were 
 contemplating. 
 
 Already, as we have seen, the shadows of Philip's mad 
 passion for the mysterious countess had begun to fall thick 
 and heavy upon his betrothed, without anything more to 
 justify the girl's forebodings of trouble than the instinct 
 that governs the judgment of women. 
 
 The gloom of coming trouble also began to cloud Philip 
 Forsyth's fancy _, and to check once more the better sen- 
 timents of his nature. 
 
 Paul Petroski's double face, however, almost contrived 
 to wear a smile all over it. He had been closeted with 
 Ferrari during the day; had been shown over the Fazio 
 Palace ; had inspected the countess' boudoir, and ex- 
 pressed much admiration for the adjacent room that 
 
282 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 looked like a strong stone prison ; had poled a gondola 
 under the window where the countess had been sitting 
 thoughtful and still ; not her gondola, not the red boat 
 which had charmed and delighted Venice, but the genuine 
 black-bodied boat with its funeral hood. 
 
 The red gondola was comedy j the black one tragedy. 
 The moonlit scenes on the canal were the bright comedy 
 pictures that were to lead up to the tragic denouement. 
 
 The meeting with Petronovitch on the previous night, 
 as forecasted in a former chapter, was the prologue to all 
 this ; and a very delightful prologue it was to the Russian 
 general who had governed in Vilnavitch in the last days 
 of the ghetto at Czarovna. She, the divine, she of his 
 unholy Venetian dreams, was his companion. The rendez- 
 vous had in it all the piquant force of a romance that was 
 to be deliciously consummated. 
 
 Ferrari, it will be remembered, had had his fears in 
 regard to the memories that might be revived in the mind 
 of General Petronovitch ; but Anna Klosstock had long 
 since faded out of the Russian's mental vision. His 
 remembrance of the unfortunate child of the ghetto had 
 been wiped out of his mind by other conquests, and he 
 had at no time ever been troubled with an unruly con- 
 science. Petronovitch, indeed, had discovered almost in 
 his youth that conscience is just what you make it. 
 
 There is a good deal written that is true about the 
 prickings of conscience,. and ruffians of the deepest dye 
 have no doubt suffered from remorse ; but Petronovitch 
 had no difficulties of this kind mixed up with his nature. 
 He had come into the world armed with a cast-iron con- 
 science, or with one that he could mould at his will ; it was 
 either adamant or it was whatever he desired to make it. 
 Anyhow it was not a factor in regard to his ambition or 
 his desires. He was a sensualist and a brute ; not that 
 he lacked the polish of courts as a veneer of the brusquerie 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. • 283 
 
 of camps. He knew when to put out his gloved hand j 
 when, his grip of mail. Among women of society he was 
 greatly admired ; he had the dash, and daring, and the 
 knack of making the boldness of an unscrupulous lover 
 appear to be merely the frankness of a soldier. 
 
 Petronovitch was what men call successful with women, 
 and he regarded the impression he had made upon the 
 Countess Stravensky as not the least gorgeous feather in 
 his cap, and her love not the least renowned of the 
 memories he hoped to enshrine in his unholy storehouse 
 of past victories. He was on the march to that goal of 
 illicit pleasure which now occupied all his wicked hopes. 
 The outposts had been captured,-the citadel would capi- 
 tulate at discretion. . 
 
 Know Anna again ! Who could possibly recognize in 
 the lovely and distinguished Countess Stravensky the 
 victim of devilish conspiracy and lust whom Petronovitch 
 had last seen broken and bleeding on the way to the 
 hospital, through whose portals men and women went 
 to their deaths or to everlasting exile in Siberia. 
 
 So far as Petronovitch was concerned the revolt of 
 Czarovna was as old and forgotten a story as was the 
 memory of his reception of the queen of the ghetto at his 
 palace on the night of Losinski's arrest and judicial murder. 
 General Petronovitch had risen to distinction and place 
 since then ; had marched roughshod through Turkish 
 villages, and with fire and sword over rebellious multitudes 
 away in Central Asia ; had shaken his red right hand at 
 the English flag ; had offered to carry his victorious 
 Cossacks right up to the Indian frontier and onwards ; 
 had been forgiven by his Imperial master for rash and 
 impolitic speeches in very admiration of his daring and 
 bravado. 
 
 In short, Petronovitch was a famous soldier and patriot 
 of the mighty north, with whom, should the long forecasted 
 
284 • Sy ORDER OP THE CZAR. 
 
 great war take place for supremacy in the East, England 
 would have to reckon in the first attacks upon the distant 
 outposts of her empire. A great, successful, popular man, 
 General Petronovitch ; a libertine, unfaithful to his wife 
 even in the honeymoon ; a tyrant, but a soldier of re- 
 source ; physically brave and a favorite of the Russian 
 Army. 
 
 He went forth on that night prior to the illuminations 
 of Venice, the night next to that of the countess' reception, 
 with the feelings of a conqueror who could no more be 
 resisted in the tents of Cupid than in the camp of 
 Mars. And yet he sat at his inamorata's feet in professed 
 humble worship of hej beauty, grateful for her gentle 
 condescension, and Anna plied him with sweet words and 
 suggested promises that fooled him to the top of his bent. 
 
 She was dreamy, poetical, allowed her soft hand to be 
 pressed. How Philip would have hated Petronovitch, 
 and her too, perhaps, could he have had a glimpse of the 
 wooing of the Russian general and the responsive murmurs 
 of the violet-eyed countess. 
 
 It was well that the general did not see Anna's face, 
 except in the subdued light of the moon ; nor, indeed, 
 note the satisfied smile of the principal gondolier, Paul 
 Petroski, who was busy with thoughts that alternately 
 influenced the sinister side of his mouth, and alternately 
 the comedy side, though the sinister gave a touch of its 
 cynicism to the other. 
 
 It was a glorious night, as Petronovitch had more than 
 once remarked, and there was music on the water ; and 
 more particularly the song of pleasure. Funiculi Funcula, 
 and the Ave Maria too. The gondoliers had joined in 
 the last verses of the former, and Petronovitch himself 
 had hummed the Italian words as he stole his arm round 
 Anna's waist. She, too, had chanted some lines of the 
 chorus with a merry abandon; for, with a gay ferocity, 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR, aS^ 
 
 she looked forward to the morrow, when the companion 
 of this moonlit hour should meet her in that quiet, secret 
 boudoir of the Fazio Palace : — 
 
 * Elle'^ montata, il sai, lassii, montata 
 La testa h gia ; 
 E andata sino in cima e poi tornata 
 
 E sempre qua ! 
 La testa gira, gira intorno, intorao, 
 
 Intorno a te 
 £ il dore canta come il primo giorno 
 Ti sposa a me ! 
 Lesti 1 Lesti ! via ! montiam su 1^ I 
 Funiculi ! Funicula ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 Ferrari's cue. 
 
 It will be easy to conceive that after this excursion, the 
 Countess Stravensky would find no difficulty in obtaining 
 the general's consent to a private visit to the Fazio Palace 
 an hour before the reception on the night of the illumina- 
 tions. 
 
 As the clock struck nine, General Petronovitch, who 
 had acted strictly upon the countess' instructions, left 
 his palace secretly, dressed for the reception^ but care- 
 fully enveloped in his cloak, he walked along the shaded 
 
 * Ah me ! 'tis strange that some should take to sighing, 
 And like it well ; 
 For me, I have not thought it worth the trying, 
 
 So cannot tell. 
 With laugh, and dance, and song, the day soon passes, 
 
 Full soon is gone ; 
 For mirth was made for joyous lads and lasses 
 To call their own. 
 Listen I Listen ! hark ! the soft guitar ! 
 Funiculi I Funiculi ! 
 
286 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 trottoir of the little canal, and found the doorway of the 
 Fazio Palace open — the doorway leading to the passage 
 which opened upon the countess' private apartments. 
 
 These Venetian palaces, one would imagine, were built 
 as much for purposes of love and intrigue, as for artistic 
 luxury and architectural beauty. General Petronovitch 
 easily succeeded in making his way to the bMcony room, 
 where the countess had given her instructions to Ferrari, 
 without exciting attention or remark. He found her lady- 
 ship reclining upon the yellow cushions of a rich silken 
 couch, her beautiful figure enveloped in an ample tea- 
 gown. He had closed the doors behind him as she had 
 requested ; had met no one coming or going, heard no 
 signs of life ; felt that he had obtained a precious privilege, 
 and this thought was the essence of his opening salutation. 
 
 He did not know how closely and fatally those doors 
 had closed behind him. He was in a fool's paradise ; and 
 the fool was happy ! A sensualist, he was proud of his 
 conquest. His small eyes gloated upon Anna's pale face 
 as he kissed her hand, and took the seat it had indicated 
 by her side. 
 
 " You think me very weak, I am sure, general," she 
 said ; " but what is woman's strength but weakness ? " 
 
 " Her strength," said the general, pressing her hand, 
 " Hes in her generosity." 
 
 " And man's?" she said interrogatively. 
 
 *' In his appreciation," he replied, promptly. 
 
 "Ah, you have made these affairs of the heart a study." 
 
 '' What else in life," he said, '' is worth serious atten- 
 tion ? " 
 
 " Oh, there are other matters of moment. You must 
 have felt them in the exercise of your noble profession 
 many a time." 
 
 " Never as keenly," he said, ** as the natural interest a 
 man feels in a beautiful woman ; especially when she 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 287 
 
 grants him the delicious privilege you have granted me." 
 
 He stole his arm about her as he spoke. She made a 
 gentle movement which was neither compliance nor re- 
 sistance, and continued the conversation. 
 
 " But you are a great general, sir. You must in your 
 career have taken part in many heroic scenes. Your vic- 
 tory over the Kurds was magnificent." 
 
 *' You think so ? " he said, smiling. " I prefer my vic- 
 tory of to-night." 
 
 ''Your triumphant march through Central Asia is 
 historic." 
 
 '' My meeting with the Countess Stravensky at Venice 
 will be longer remembered." 
 
 " Tell me, general, what was your first great achieve- 
 ment in the service of our good father, the Czar } " 
 
 " Great achievements, my dear countess, become small 
 when the achiever talks of them." 
 
 " But remember, general, that a woman loves to hear 
 her hero narrate his victories. Don't you remember that 
 it was with the eloquent tongue of the soldier that Othello 
 won Desdemona, and it was here, on one of these bal- 
 conies that the Moorish commander came and held friendly 
 and romantic converse with the maiden and her father ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Petronovitch, " and it was here, also, I 
 presume, where she fell a victim to the black man's jeal- 
 ousy. If I had been Othello — for your sake I would 
 even have been black — and you had been Desdemona, I 
 should have understood you better ; should have loved 
 and trusted you. I would never have been jealous ; I 
 would never have killed you, except with kindness j and 
 then we would have crossed the dark river together ! " 
 
 " My dear general," the countess replied, turning her 
 great eyes full upon him, and with to him what appeared 
 to be a most fascinating smile. '' if all this be true you are 
 indeed in love." 
 
288 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 " I am,^ he said ; " most truly, most devotedly." 
 
 She laid her head upon his shoulder, and a little shiver 
 of hate ran through her veins. 
 
 " He didn't like the parting with his daughter, that old 
 Venetian," she said. " I had a father once — have now, 
 somewhere in the world ; and I would give my life to 
 embrace him once again ! " 
 
 '' You are in a very reflective mood," said the general. 
 
 " Yes," she said, ** the mood comes with thinking of 
 your victories and the shadows that follow their sunshine. 
 You triumphed once, did you not ; most completely and 
 with great honor in suppressing the rising against the Jews, 
 in the Province of Vilnavitch? Ah, that was kind of you, 
 to protect with your strong Russian hand those poor 
 Hebrew people ! You know, of course, that I am a 
 Jewess ? " 
 
 " No other race could give to the world so beautiful a 
 creature," said the general, pressing his lips upon her 
 forehead. 
 
 ^' It is the nature of love to flatter/' she said ; " and 
 you do not care to talk of your generous deeds. Our 
 Russian fellow-subjects had a fit of madness, had they 
 not, in those days against my people ? At a place called 
 Czarovna, if I remember the name rightly, they had made 
 for themselves, as far as possible in Russia, what may be 
 called a paradise. It was as if their father Abraham had 
 brought them at last to something like a land flowing with 
 milk and honey." 
 
 " Yes, I believe so," said the general, absorbed in his 
 admiration of the woman whom he pressed still closer to 
 his side. 
 
 " You helped the poor people, and put down the insur- 
 rection, is it not so ? " 
 
 " Well, not quite that, I fear," he said., ^' I was the 
 Czar's officer j I tried to do my duty," 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 289 
 
 " Yes," she said, " you would, dear general, and in so do- 
 ing show your appreciation of the fine character and domes- 
 tic instincts of the Czarovna Jew — I am sure you did. It 
 was like you, like Russia, like our holy father the Czar ! 
 Do you remember the name of Klosstock ? My dear dead 
 Count Stravensky, I remember, mentioned him to me as a 
 very worthy man ; I think he had some business dealings 
 with him.' 
 
 ^' No, I don't remember," said the general, a little out 
 of patience with the direction in which the countess forced 
 the conversation. "It was so long ago, and so many 
 events have happened." 
 
 " You do not care to talk of these things," she said. " I 
 am very sorry.'* 
 
 He felt that she drew herself from him_, and no longer 
 responded to his attempted embraces. 
 
 " My dear countess, I care to talk of anything that may 
 interest you. Believe me, I have no other desire than to 
 be your slave." 
 
 "There was a young woman in Czarovna — I think it 
 must be talking of Desdemona and her father that has 
 made me recall some strange circumstances which came 
 to the knowledge of my dear dead husband. Count Stra- 
 vensky — they called her ' Queen of the Ghetto,' do you 
 remember ? " 
 
 "Yes," he said, " I think T do ; but as I said before, it 
 is so long ago, and so many things have happened in the 
 time that has passed between then and now." 
 
 " Oh, no," she said, " it is not so long ago, my dear 
 general ; not to her, at least, nor to her father, nor to the 
 rabbi to whom she was betrothed ! " 
 
 Petronovitch felt an increasing resistance of his blan- 
 dishments, as the countess recalled to his mind the 
 tragedy of Czarovna, which he now bega,.r» himself to re- 
 member with unwelcome distinctness. 
 
 19 
 
290 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 " To her," she said, rising and putting aside his arm, 
 " it is as yesterday. To her the pain is as keen this 
 moment as it was then." 
 
 She faced him calmly, but with flashing eyes, as he rose 
 to his feet, and her hand was busv with a diamond buckle 
 at her neck. 
 
 " Do you remember how you kept your promise to that 
 woman? Do you remember the base proposals she re- 
 sented ? Do you remember how you undertook to release 
 her lover? Do you remember how you outraged your 
 promised protection ? How you slew her lover and left 
 the cruel marks of your savage nature upon her, body and 
 soul ? You do : I see you do I " 
 
 General Petronovitch had turned pale as she spoke, had 
 stepped back from her as if to receive the spring of some 
 wild animal. 
 
 Unclasping the diamond buckle, she flung aside her 
 robe and disclosed the peasant costume of Czarov^na, and 
 there stood before him, his victim, Anna Klosstock. 
 
 This was the cue for which Ferrari had waited. Before 
 Petronovitch could utter the exclamation of surprise that 
 was on his lips, the lithe stealthy form of Ferrari had 
 seized him from behind, and his grim assistant, Paul Pet- 
 roski, stood by the doorway. 
 
 The general made no resistance. He had received a 
 moral blow from Anna Klosstock that for the moment had 
 struck him down as firmly as any physical assault. He 
 was bound and gagged, and flung upon the couch where, 
 a few minutes previously, he had congratulated himself 
 upon his conquest over the beautiful woman who had so 
 soon become the talk of Venice. 
 
 " I will not indulge myself," said Anna, " in the further 
 recall of that crime of Czarovna. I have looked forward to 
 this day for years, hourly — had it in my mind every min- 
 ute — and have seen myself revelling in the denunciations 
 
SV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 29! 
 
 I should fling at you. But that is past ! My mission is 
 no longer one of revenge, but of justice. You pronounced 
 the verdict upon the Rabbi Losinski — you pronounced 
 the verdict upon Johannes Klosstock, the best man, the 
 kindest father that ever drew breath — you, first ruining 
 your victim beyond all repair, pronounced the verdict 
 upon his daughter, Anna Klosstock — she now pronounces 
 the verdict upon you ; not in her own name, but in the 
 name of the patriotic Brotherhood of the Dawn, who 
 have sworn as far as in them lies to rid their beloved 
 Russia and all the world of such pests as you. The 
 only torture you will undergo is that which must now 
 afflict you. You sent my people of Czarovna before 
 the High Throne of God with their sins thick upon 
 their heads. Your Church declares it possible for the 
 sinner to be forgiven at the last moment. You have ten 
 minutes to make your peace with the God you profess to 
 serve : and the joyous music of the Countess Stravensky's 
 reception will be your requiem ! Remove the enemy of God 
 and man. Report to me his death at ten *. " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 AFTER FERRARI'S REPORT. 
 
 As gondola after gondola came dashing along the Grand 
 Canal, and pulling up with that sudden and remarkable 
 precision so characteristic of this famous Venetian boat, 
 the Countess Stravensky left her boudoir and prepared to 
 receive her guests. Ferrari at the same moment passed 
 out of the adjacent room, the steps of which led down to 
 the palace's tiny quay beneath her ladyship's window. 
 
 *' Czarovna is avenged," he said, taking the white hand 
 she held out to him and kissing it. 
 
292 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 " Dear did friend ! " she said, " I give you the kiss of 
 gratitude." 
 
 She kissed him on both cheeks. 
 
 " Come to me at midnight — the same way," pointing to 
 the ante-room, " we must confer.'* 
 
 The old clock by the doorway solemnly beat out the 
 hour of ten. 
 
 " Punctual ever," she said, *' and true, dear friend. To- 
 night we will talk of Czarovna and the ghetto." 
 
 ''And of to-morrow," said Ferrari, significantly. 
 
 " Yes," she replied, " of to-morrow ! " 
 
 The next moment she disappeared behind the portiere 
 into the adjoining room, where her maid awaited her, and 
 thence with stately tread to the head of the grand staircase 
 of the palace. She was radiant. 
 
 Her dress was nothing short of an inspiration, so plain 
 was it, yet so effective. The general impression it seemed 
 to convey was that of a rich brocade which, despite its 
 splendor, gave to the figure and fell in pliable and ever- 
 changing folds. With the exception of a rich lace stoma- 
 cher it was made high to the throat, as were all the coun- 
 tess' costumes, for reasons which the reader may probably 
 guess. Lest he should be in doubt, let it be at once re- 
 marked, by the way, that the stripes of the Russian knout 
 go down to the grave with the victim who bears them. 
 
 The hostess had referred to this in her tragic address to 
 the cruel Governor of Czarovna, the famous Russian gen- 
 eral, who, in his death agony, had heard that requiem 
 music of which she had spoken. 
 
 While the festal strains were still rippling from the hid- 
 den orchestra, he lay dead and awaiting the silent disposi- 
 tion of his executioners. 
 
 The countess knew this, and her cheeks flushed ; she 
 knew it, and her heart beat with rapture ; she knew it, and 
 thought of her father away in the Siberian wilds \ she knew 
 
BY aRDER OP TttE CZAR, 2,93 
 
 it, and more than once had to make an effort to keep back 
 her tears. 
 
 The lights of hundreds of wax candles played upon her 
 red-gold hair, and deepened the deep red shadows in her 
 brocaded gown. A great solitaire diamond flashed in a 
 thousand changing hues at her throat, and the star of some 
 Russian order lay upon the faded lace of her stomacher. 
 
 The palace was a blaze of light, the atmosphere sweet with 
 the perfume of flowers, the soft, winning harmonies of lute 
 and zither came from an unseen orchestra. 
 
 Philip and his friends were among the first arrivals. In 
 his wildest dreams the young artist had not yet realized 
 the impressiveness of his gracious model's beauty. On 
 this dreamy night in Venice, in his eyes she looked like 
 the divine impersonation of the city itself. There was an 
 added touch, it seemed to him, a deeper, richer tone in her 
 wavy red-gold hair; there was an unaccustomed flush 
 upon her usually pale cheeks ; her violet eyes reflected 
 back the blazing lights around her. She seemed taller in 
 his estimation, and moved about with the dignity of Juno 
 and the inviting grace of Venus. He saw no one else, 
 heard no other voice than hers. He left the side of Dolly 
 abruptly to greet her, then in the same fashion returned \ 
 felt himself under a spell he could not break. 
 
 The countess noticed his confusion, and thought of her 
 betrothed of the ghetto. Philip, in her excited state of 
 mind, seemed for the moment as a recompense sent to her 
 by Fate. But she shook herself free of the thought as 
 quickly as it came, and tried to place herself in the position 
 of his fiancee. The next moment it occurred to her that 
 Philip did not love the English girl, that she herself swayed 
 his heart. The great object of her life accomplished with 
 the death of Petronovitch, it crept into her mind to reflect 
 again how bitter her lot had been, how little of love, how 
 much of misery ; and as a fascinating temptation, the sug- 
 
294 ^^ ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 gestion crept into her soul to accept the incense Philip was 
 ready to burn at her altar ; nay, to respond as her heart 
 was inclined to his passion ! But better thoughts came 
 almost simultaneously with the bad ones — the antidote with 
 the poison. 
 
 *' I am so glad to see you," she said, taking Mrs. Mil- 
 banke by the hand with special cordiality, '^ it is so good 
 of you to come." 
 
 *' It was so sweet of you to ask us," Jenny responded. 
 
 " How beautiful your sister is ! You English have such 
 superb complexions ! " 
 
 Then receiving Dolly, she said, " My dear, I congratu- 
 late Mr. Forsyth ; forgive one so much your elder for 
 venturing to offer a criticism ; you are lovely, and what a 
 becoming dress ! Ah ! here is your fiancee. Mr. Forsyth, 
 I congratulate you ; how happy you must be ! And what 
 do you think of Venice? Does it realize all you dreamt 
 of? It is strangely beautiful and romantic, is it not ? " 
 
 *' Indeed it is," said Philip, his hand trembling in hers, 
 his voice quivering. 
 
 " Full of subjects for the painter ; and what tragedies 
 in its history ! Ah, well you must not think of them ; light 
 gay comedy is for you, is it not so? And this is Mr. Wal- 
 ter Milbanke. I am sure I do not require an introduction, 
 I have heard so much of him." 
 
 *' You are very good to say so — not too much, I hope," 
 Walter replied. " But we must not keep you from your 
 guests ; there are so many waiting for the pleasure of your 
 recognition." 
 
 " Thank you," said the countess, bestowing a general 
 smile upon the entire group, " we shall meet, no doubt, on 
 the canal later ; the illuminations are something wonderful ; 
 you know my gondola ; do not let us pass each other later 
 without a salute. I shall be so delighted to see you all 
 again." 
 
^K ORDER OF THE CZAR, 2^ 
 
 Then she gave her attention to other guests, and Philip 
 followed her with his eyes as one in a dream. Jenny spoke 
 to him, Walter spoke to him, Dolly stood by his side. He 
 heard them not, saw them not. Several guests noticed his 
 wrapt attention and smiled. It was plain to see that the 
 hostess had made a conquest of the young Englishman, and 
 that he did not attempt to resist the spell she had cast 
 upon him. 
 
 " She is indeed a magnificent woman," remarked one 
 Venetian to another, " a Jewess, I believe ; might be a 
 Venetian instead of a Russian ; has the features of the old 
 masters, the hair too ; our own Titian might have painted 
 her." 
 
 " The young fellow, who is evidently annoying his lady 
 companions is perhaps an artist, and thinking as you think," 
 said the other, disappearing among the throng. 
 
 Jenny overheard this, and for a moment tried to think as 
 the stranger suggested, that Philip's admiration was the ad- 
 miration of the painter ; but she soon gave up that excuse 
 and felt herself insulted through her sister Dolly. 
 
 Presently Philip, with some foolish excuse or other, left 
 them only for a moment, he said, to speak to an artist 
 whom he would like them to know ; but a few minutes 
 later it seemed as if this was only an excuse to be once 
 more within the brilliant circle which continually sur- 
 rounded the countess. 
 
 Jenny could no longer restrain herself. All her desire 
 to see and be seen in Venetian society, all her worldliness, 
 all her love of society, vanished in her sense of pride and 
 in her love for Dolly. 
 
 " My dear," she said to Walter, the moment there was 
 an opportunity to speak to him, '* he is madly in love 
 with that woman. We'have made a mistake; his engage- 
 ment to Dolly is ours rather than his ; it must not go on ; 
 Dolly must not be sacrificed to her match-making sister." 
 
2^6 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 " My dear Jenny," said Walter, ** you are beside your- 
 self. It is his artistic temperament that is at fault, not his 
 heart. And what do you mean by 'match-making sister?' 
 You have done nothing to force this engagement." 
 
 " Yes, I have ; yes, I have," said Jenny quickly. " Sam 
 Swinford says there is an underlying stratum of snobbish- 
 ness in what we call our social life in London ; he is right, 
 and we have sacrificed Dolly to that wretched fetish." 
 
 " My dear, my dear," said Walter, *' don't excite your- 
 self. People are looking at us." 
 
 " PhiHp isn't," said Jenny, " he has eyes for no one but 
 that woman. Look at our poor Dolly — she sees it ; so 
 does the countess." 
 
 " Well, well," said Walter, *' my dear, be calm. For 
 heaven's sake, don't let us have a scene. We will leave." 
 
 '^ But the gondola ? " said Jenny. 
 
 " Oh, that's all right," said Walter. 
 
 " I mean the procession — I don't know what I mean. 
 Were we not going out to join the company on the 
 canal ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Walter, " and we will if you will be 
 calm. There is no chance of saying or doing anything at 
 present ; we will talk it over. I will discuss it with Philip. 
 Don't let us lead up to the usual criticism of the English 
 abroad. Here comes Dolly." 
 
 "And there goes Philip," said Jenny. " He is crazy," 
 
 *' He is looking for Dolly," said Walter. 
 
 " Not he," said Jenny. 
 
 " But he is, my dear," said Walter, " see, he is turning 
 now." At which moment Philip came towards them, 
 following Dolly, who answered the inquiring gaze of her 
 sister with a defiant expression in her eyes, but not without 
 tears. 
 
 " My dear, there is something wrong," said Jenny, draw- 
 ing Dolly on one side, " your instinct was right ; I have 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR, I97 
 
 not mentioned anything you said to Walter ; but he and I 
 both have been very sensible of Philip's behavior to night ; 
 be calm, love; don't fret; we will pat it all right; take 
 your cue from me. You shall not be sacrificed." 
 
 Dolly pressed Jenny's arm, and Mrs. Milbanke put on 
 her best manner. She had some of the gifts of the natural 
 actress. Now was the time, she thought, to give them 
 play. 
 
 " Delightful, is it not, Philip ? " she said, ** a lovely 
 scene." 
 
 " Yes," he said, "it is." 
 
 " The countess is a lovely creature." 
 
 " Is she not ? " he replied. 
 
 " Everybody can see you think so," she went on, laugh- 
 ing coquettishly. " Oh, you men, you men ! " 
 
 Philip blushed and looked at Dolly, who tossed her head 
 defiantly, and took Walter's arm. 
 
 *' I want to show you the canal from the balcony," he 
 said. " Philip will give his arm to Jenny." 
 
 Philip did so. 
 
 " We will follow Walter," said Jenny. 
 
 Philip had now an opportunity of seeing that the coun- 
 tess was not the only woman present who was attracting 
 attention. Both women and men noticed the youthful 
 English beauty. Dolly was not blind to this unspoken 
 admiration. Her gait had all the healthful firmness of her 
 tennis-playing countrywomen. She held herself with a 
 natural gracefulness. Her complexion was fair as it was 
 rich. Her lips red, her smile sweet, frank and unsophis- 
 ticated. In her pale blue Duchesse dress, and with her 
 white round shoulders, her shining yellow hair in a high 
 coif, and her deep blue eyes, she was an exceptionally fine 
 type of British beauty, and may be said to have divided 
 the honors of the evening in the opinion of a brilliant 
 assembly, so far as beauty and distinction were concerned, 
 with the hostess herself. 
 
298 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 *' How well Dolly looks to-night," said Jenny to Philip. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, " but she always looks well." 
 
 " Lacks that pasty kind of complexion that painters 
 admire, though ? " 
 
 " I think not," he said. 
 
 " Has not the charm that foreign women have then, is 
 that it?" 
 
 " I think she has every charm a woman can desire, or a 
 man who seeks a good and beautiful wife." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Forsyth," continued Jenny, " you are 
 either a fool or you think Dolly is. Don't start, it will be 
 noticed. If I were Walter, do you know how I should 
 view your conduct to-night ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Milbanke ! " exclaimed Philip. " I do not un- 
 derstand you." 
 
 " I think I understand you, sir," said Jenny, losing all 
 that wonderful calmness and control of herself which she 
 had resolved five minutes previously to exercise. 
 
 " If you do, it is hardly polite to say so in such offensive 
 terms." 
 
 ** Do not let go my arm," said Jenny. ** I do not wish 
 to attract attention ; you have done enough in that direc- 
 tion already." 
 
 " I ! " Philip exclaimed. 
 
 " You," said Jenny. " You have had no eyes for any- 
 one, no thoughts for anyone since our arrival except for 
 this countess, this mysterious woman who gives you sit- 
 tings and makes her appearance in Venice unexpectedly, 
 when she has learnt from you that you are paying a visit to 
 the place. Your neglect of Dolly to-night, sir, your con- 
 tinual, your undivided attention to that red-haired woman, 
 sir, has been in the nature of an insult to Dolly, to me, and 
 to Walter. Keep my arm, sir ! The honor may not be 
 repeated, and, as I said before, I do not want to make a 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 299 
 
 Jenny was simply beside herself with passion. 
 
 " Pray, my dear Mrs. Milbanke, moderate your words; 
 we will discuss my conduct at the hotel ; I will explain, 
 and you will explain ; I assure you, meanwhile, nothing is 
 further from my thoughts than to desire to be unkind to 
 you, or to Dolly or to Walter ; if I have seemed strange I 
 am sorry, but pray do me the justice to believe that it 
 would be impossible to insult you ] I may have seemed 
 strange ; I have felt so, but " 
 
 He was interrupted by Walter, who turned round on the 
 moment to direct their attention to the assembling of the 
 boats outside the palace, and the pause in the general 
 gathering to witness and greet the new arrivals. " I think 
 we ought to make our way to the exit now," said Walter, 
 *' I see Beppo and his comrade ; and (waving his hand) 
 they see me. Yes, I will let them know that we are com- 
 ing." Walter waved his hand again, and then proceeded 
 to lead the way, following them amidst the general exodus 
 of the company towards the grand staircase. 
 
 The scene was novel beyond description. The marble 
 staircase gave upon the grand canal which was all alive with 
 traffic, and all ablaze with color. The night was lighted up 
 by one lamp above away in the shining heavens, and by 
 millions down below, making the water one vast moving 
 sea of emeralds, diamonds, and precious gems ; but Walter 
 and Jenny and Dolly no longer enjoyed the glory of the 
 scene. The gorgeous fSte was out of tune with their feel- 
 ings. The music was harsh, the bells rung backwards. 
 
 And when they had pushed off amidst the splendid 
 crowd, and were already part of the show themselves, with 
 the brilliant lanterns which Walter had ordered Beppo to 
 provide, they found that Philip was no longer of their 
 party. 
 
 " To the Telegraph Office, Beppo," said Jenny, a very 
 prosaic order for so splendid an occasion. 
 
300 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 " The Telegraph Office," exclaimed the gondolier. 
 
 "The Post," she repeated. 
 
 " But not to see the sights ? " he asked, for the first time 
 hesitating to obey orders. 
 
 " Not yet," said Jenny, and with a firmness of manner 
 which Walter did not care himself to resist. 
 
 " You wish to send a telegram somewhere ? " Walter 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes," said Jenny. 
 
 '' Take the next turn, Beppo ; we are close to the office." 
 
 "Yes, excellency," said Beppo; and the gondola pre- 
 sently swept out of the light into the comparative dark- 
 ness of a narrow waterway, the shadows of which were 
 now more in harmony with the feelings of the little English 
 party than were the lamps and music, the flashing boats, 
 and the merry laughter of the Grand Canal. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 SAM SWYNFORD IS SUMMONED TO VENICE. 
 
 The London season had fairly commenced its course of 
 comedy and tragedy, while the Milbankes and PhiHp 
 Forsyth were in the midst of their adventures in Italy. 
 
 To Dick Chetwynd and his wife, however, it was but 
 the first day of the season, which to them opened with the 
 Spring exhibition at the famous art club and gallery of 
 which Dick was the moving spirit. Bond Street was 
 crowded with carriages taking up and setting down hand- 
 somely dressed visitors to Chetwynd's fashionable exhibi- 
 tion. 
 
 It was a delightful May day, almost as bright and sunny 
 as Venice. The Bond Street tradesmen had put out their 
 awnings, and filled their windows with fine displays of art 
 and industry. Dick Chetwynd, in faultless summer cos- 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 301 
 
 tume, with a button hole of lilies of the valley, assisted his 
 aristocratic directors to receive the first distinguished 
 crowd of the season. 
 
 Since the winter exhibition of the *' Rosetti," the quad- 
 rangle, previously used as a carriage entrance, had been 
 transformed into a delightful winter garden with an 
 Oriental fountain, noble palm trees and Eastern exotics, 
 amidst which the contributions of sculpture were deftly 
 and daintily arranged with pleasant lounges, one pic- 
 turesque corner leading into a pleasant tea-room. 
 
 Among the visitors was Sam Swynford, who had for the 
 day laid his city business aside to indulge in the first of 
 the great Art functions of the year. 
 
 With the defeat of Sam's matrimonial hopes, his finan- 
 cial prosperity had increased ; not simply day by day, but 
 as it would seem almost hour by hour. He had heard 
 nothing of the Milbankes since their departure for Italy, 
 but he had read in that morning's paper an account of the 
 f§tes at Venice, and had felt, in spite of himself, envious 
 of the haj)piness and good fortune of Philip Forsyth. It 
 was to him a matter of melancholy delight to meet Mrs. 
 Chetwynd at the " Rosettis' " in this bright London May 
 time, for she at once commenced to talk of Dolly and Philip 
 and the Milbankes. 
 
 Mrs? Chetwynd appeared to take no active part in her 
 husband's work. " While she heartily shared with him his 
 artistic and occasionally his Hterary labors, she was 
 rarely in evidence as more than an ordinary workaday wife 
 busy with her domestic and family affairs. She had, there- 
 fore, on this occasion plenty of time to chat with friends 
 and generally enjoy the occasion. She knew Swynford 
 to be somewhat of a patron of the Arts to the extent at 
 any rate of making occasional purchases ; she had heard 
 all about his disappointment in regard to Dolly Nor- 
 cott \ she knew that he took a deep interest in the Mil- 
 
302 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 bankes ; that Dick liked him ; and she responded at 
 once sympathetically to his questions. 
 
 " The Milbankes seem," he said, " to be having a de- 
 lightful time in Venice." 
 
 " Then you have heard ? " replied Mrs. Chetwynd. 
 
 " Oh, no. I don't know that I expected to hear ; but I 
 have been reading this morning's descriptions of the 
 Venetian fetes." 
 
 ** Yes ; very picturesque and impressive, no doubt," 
 said Mrs. Chetwynd. " Dick expected to have had a line 
 or two from Philip ; but not a word." 
 
 " When people are [very happy they are not given to 
 very much letter writing, I expect." 
 
 " I should have thought you would have heard from 
 Walter Milbanke ; he is a great friend of yours, is he 
 not?"^ 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Swynford, " I like Walter very much ; 
 a good fellow ; comes into the city occasionally and does 
 a little speculation j just the same to him whether he wins 
 or loses ; always cheerful." 
 
 " I suppose," replied Mrs. Chetwynd, " it is hardly 
 what may be called etiquette to congratulate you upon all 
 I hear about your successes in that mysterious part of 
 London you call the city ? " 
 
 '' Oh, I am not much of a man for etiquette, Mrs. Chet- 
 wynd, and whatever you might say to me would only be 
 pleasant, I'm sure, under any circumstances. I have been 
 very lucky lately, that is one of the reasons why I am here 
 to-day. I must ask your advice about one or two pictures. 
 It's a dispensation of Providence, no doubt ; if a man's 
 lucky one way, he's unfortunate in another." 
 
 " But a man," replied Mrs. Chetwynd, '' has so many 
 resources, so many various means of consolation." 
 
 'You think so? I suppose you are right. I maybe 
 the exception to the rule. But there is one kind of disap- 
 pointment which a fellow never gets over." 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 303 
 
 ** Ah," said Mrs. Chetwynd, " a fellow thinks so for a 
 week or two or a month or two ; but he is easily consoled 
 at last, and comes to regard what at one time he would 
 call a disappointment as a very fortunate circumstance." 
 
 '* No, Mrs. Chetwynd, not a bit of it. The only conso- 
 lation he has is in trying to get all he can out of the proverb 
 that ' While there's life there's hope.' Did you see the 
 Milbankes before they left ? " 
 
 " Well, to tell you the truth," said Mrs. Chetwynd, " I 
 have seen very little of the Milbankes. I have heard a 
 great deal about Miss Norcott and Mrs. Milbanke from 
 Dick, and of course I have seen a great deal of Philip 
 Forsyth." 
 
 " Yes," said Swynford, ** very clever, interesting young 
 fellow." 
 
 " You have met him, then ? " said Mrs. Chetwynd. 
 
 *' Oh, yes," said Swynford, "dined with him not very 
 long ago at the Milbankes'. Will you forgive me, Mrs. 
 Chetwynd, for pressing my confidence upon you ? You 
 see I am, as one might put it, more than usually a bachelor 
 in every sense of the term ; no sisters, no mother, no 
 woman-folk, as they say down in Yorkshire, to consult. 
 You know all about what has happened to me, and what 
 has happened to Miss Norcott. Has it occurred to you 
 that the engagement was rather hurried and probably 
 unduly supported by Dolly's relatives? " 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Chetwynd, " I really can't say ; and 
 you need not apologize for asking me the question. I know 
 that Dick has always thought that marriage would be a 
 good thing for Philip, and we did not know until the other 
 day how much you are reported to have liked Mrs. Mil- 
 banke's sister." 
 
 " We are chatting between ourselves now, are we not ? " 
 said Sam, anxious to have a confidante. " Liked her ! 
 Mrs. Chetwynd, I would have given twenty years of my 
 
304 
 
 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 life to be in the position of Philip Forsyth ; and what 
 troubles me a good deal is the feeling that it is quite pos- 
 sible that Dolly Norcott liked me just as much as the man 
 she has become engaged to. I have an idea that Waller 
 Milbanke and his wife considered PhiUp Forsyth a better 
 match socially and in other respects than myself, rightly, 
 no doubt j he is a clever, handsome young fellow ; also an 
 artist ; in society and likely to make a position at the 
 West End. Dolly is passionately fond of her sister and 
 her brother-in-law, rather easy-going, kind hearted to a 
 fault ; and the more I think of it — and I never think of 
 anything else — the more I come to the conclusion that if I 
 had proposed two days before Forsyth I should have been 
 accepted." 
 
 " Then, my dear Mr. Swynford, why didn't you ? " asked 
 Mrs. Chetwynd quickly. 
 
 " I was too fond of her," said Swynford. " I told her 
 sister the day after I understood she was engaged to Phi- 
 lip that if a certain thing had occurred two or three days 
 earlier, I should have spoken to her and Walter upon the 
 subject, and taken my chance with Dolly." 
 
 " May I ask what your reason was for delay ? " 
 
 " I was too fond of her," repeated Swynford. "The day 
 after her engagement I was a rich man ; two days before I 
 was only a moderately successful stockbroker. Two days 
 afterwards events occurred on 'Change which I been 
 hoping for and hardly daring to expect. I made fifty thou- 
 sand pounds the day after I lost Dolly Norcott." 
 
 '' Hello ! " said Chetwynd, passing at the moment. 
 ** How do you do, Swynford ? Agnes, my dear, the Mar- 
 chioness of Thistledown is anxious to be introduced to you, 
 and my chief director. Lord Singleton, asks me to make 
 him acquainted with the city gentleman everybody is just 
 now talking about." 
 
 *' And who may that be ? " asked Swynford. 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 305 
 
 " Mr. Samuel Swynford," said Chetwynd, patting him 
 familiarly upon the shoulder. 
 
 " Ah, we were just talking about that unhappy person," 
 said Swynford, ^' I and your wife. I have been giving 
 Mrs. Chetwynd a few points upon a subject in which we 
 are all interested, I more especially." 
 
 '* You must come and dine, Mr. Swynford," said Agnes, 
 " and we will have a long chat." 
 
 " Yes," said Dick. " When will you come ? " 
 
 " To-morrow ? " asked Mrs. Chetwynd. 
 
 " With pleasure," said Swynford. 
 
 " Ah, here is Lord Singleton," said Dick. *' Allow me 
 to present Mr. Samuel Swynford." 
 
 '' How do you do, Mr. Swynford ? " said Lord Singleton. 
 " Very glad to make your acquaintance." 
 
 " Thank you very much," said Swynford. 
 
 " I want to show you a picture I have just bought, and, 
 if I may, to have a word on business. Rather unfair to 
 talk about money to you outside the city, but some people 
 who are interested in a scheme you favor very much, I am 
 told, have asked me to become a director." 
 
 " To-morrow, then, at seven," said Dick Chetwynd, 
 nodding at Swynford. 
 
 *' With pleasure," said Swynford. " I shall be there." 
 
 And the four gradually disappeared among the throng, 
 Swynford congratulating himself in a melancholy kind of 
 way upon the friendly intercourse he had struck up with the 
 Chetwynds, more particularly pleased with Dick's amiable, 
 sympathetic and handsome wife. 
 
 Lord Singleton presently carried him off to lunch at an 
 adjacent club, where Sam entertained and instructed him in 
 connection with certain investments which his lordship had 
 made. Lord Singleton in his turn gave Swynford sundry 
 valuable hints about certain pictures which Swynford in- 
 tended to purchase ; not that he had much room for them 
 
 20 
 
3o6 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 at his chambers, but he had recently resolved to buy a house 
 on the Upper Thames where he could invite a few friends 
 during the summer season, and have a snug retreat for 
 high days and holidays when he could conveniently leave 
 his business in the city. 
 
 It was rather late when he returned home to dress for a 
 little dinner engagement which he had accepted at the Par- 
 thenon Club. Nevertheless, he flung himself upon a couch 
 full of cushions, asked Devereux for his slippers, and re- 
 quested his servant not to disturb him for half an hour. 
 
 " You said you would dress at seven, sir." 
 
 "Yes, I know." 
 
 " It's now half past." 
 
 " Can't help it, Devereux. Am tired ; must have forty 
 winks." 
 
 ** Yes, sir. There are two telegrams for you." 
 
 " I won't open them," said Swynford, " at present." 
 
 " Right, sir." 
 
 " Come to me in twenty minutes." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 Swynford did not have forty winks. He felt depressed 
 and miserable. He couldn't help all daylong contrasting 
 his position with that of Philip Forsyth. He couldn't help 
 thinking at the Rosetti Gallery how happy he could be if 
 he had, as a companion, with future happy prospects, 
 Dolly Norcott. He couldn't help thinking how generously 
 he could have ministered to her tastes and foibles, what 
 pictures they would have bought together, what a delight- 
 ful time they would have had in buying and furnishing that 
 house, for which he had purchased those pictures ; and 
 in contemplating himself he saw a special and individual 
 example of the impossibility of perfect human happiness 
 arising from the impossibility of a perfect cultivation of the 
 virtue of contentment. 
 
 Sam Swynford possessed most of the things that could 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 307 
 
 make a young fellow happy. Good health, plenty of 
 money, a genial and generous disposition, no social or 
 political ambition ; but he wanted Dolly Norcott. Once 
 or twice during the day he had asked himself why he 
 should not go to Italy ? He could afford the time ; there 
 was nothing in his business at the moment that could not 
 wait for him ; he had no harassing speculations ; the 
 money he had recently made was the result of time-bargains 
 which were over. Then he asked himself, supposing he 
 went to Italy what satisfaction he could possibly get out 
 of such a trip ? He would meet the Milbankes and Dolly, 
 of course ; but between him and them stood Philip For- 
 syth, successful and in possession. 
 
 Devereux knocked at the door and came in while these 
 varied thoughts and emotions were passing in weary repe- 
 tition through his master's mind. 
 
 '' Ten minutes to eight, sir." 
 
 *' All right, Devereux, I am ready." 
 
 " Two telegrams, sir," said Devereux. 
 
 Swynford opened the first. 
 
 " Dinner will be quarter of an hour later than arranged, 
 but happy to see you as soon as you like." 
 
 " That's lucky," said Swynford to his servant. '* Needn't 
 hurry." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Devereux, handing his master the 
 second message, which Swynford read twice over with an 
 emotion he could not disguise from Devereux. 
 
 " When did this come ? " he exclaimed, his voice full of 
 its customary energy, his manner alert and excited. 
 
 *' At one o'clock, sir." 
 
 *' Good heavens, man," said Swynford, " why didn't you 
 let me know?" 
 
 ** I could not, sir," Devereux replied. 
 
 " No, of course not," said the master, striding rapidly 
 across the room and back again, looking at himself in the 
 mirror, then at Devereux, then at the telegram. 
 
30^ BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 '* Sorry to see you so much disturbed, sir. What can I 
 do ? " 
 
 *' Get me Bradshaw," said Swynford. 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 "The Continental Bradshaw," said Swynford. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said the servant, laying the book upon the 
 table before Swynford, who had now sat down with calm 
 deliberation at his writing desk. 
 
 " Telegraph forms, Devereux." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Devereux, handing the forms and pencil 
 to him with miUtary promptitude. 
 
 Swynford wrote : — 
 
 '■^ Thanks for your telegram; very sorry ; am prevented 
 at last moment frotn dining with you; will explaijt at 
 future day ; my sincere regards and regrets*^ 
 
 " Send that at once to the Parthenon Club." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 Devereux disappeared ; rang his own private bell for 
 his own private servant, a boy in buttons as bright as his 
 own eyes, who disappeared with the message. 
 
 When Devereux returned Swynford was deep in the 
 study of Bradshaw. 
 
 " Pack my foreign trunk at once, Devereux. Order the 
 brougham to be at the door at twenty minutes to nine to 
 the minute. Pack what you think I shall require. I am 
 going to Italy. Shall go straight through from Dover to 
 Milan. Be ready to accompany me." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Leave the house keeper in charge here. Wire at once 
 to Atkins that my address is Damiano's Hotel, Venice ; to 
 send on his report and all letters from the city by first 
 mail to-morrow. Now you have not a moment to lose, 
 nor have I." 
 
 " All shall be ready as you wish, sir, to the minute." 
 
By ORDER OF THE CZAR, 309 
 
 " All right, Devereiix. I will be back in a quarter of an 
 hour." 
 
 Swynford, now all bustle and excitement, took up his hat 
 and cane and walked to the nearest telegraph office, re- 
 peating to himself the words of that second telegram from 
 Venice to which he was now formulating his answer. 
 
 ^'' From Mrs, Milbanke^ Hotel Beau Rivage^ Venice : — . 
 Regard this as private ; but come to Venice immediately ; 
 not direct to this hotel, but to Damiano's. I believe I can 
 arrange everythijig to your satisfactio?t. Wire me at 
 o?tce, namiftg iraiftyou leave by. 
 
 "Jennie Milbanke." 
 
 To which Swynford answered, writing the message with 
 the calm deliberation which had succeeded his excitement, 
 as follows : — 
 
 " Samuel Swyttford to Mrs. Milbanke^ Hotel Beau 
 Rivage^ Venice : — A thousand thanks for your welcome 
 telegram. Trying to understattd it ; of course with sel^ 
 fish hopes. Am leavi?tg by the Paris mail to-night. 
 Shall go through to Milan a?id straight on to Venice. 
 Wire 7ne to Grand Hotel, Milan. Hope there is no mis-* 
 take about your message. Sincere regards. 
 
 " Sam Swynford." 
 
 The nearest telegraph office was at Burlington House. 
 Sam had jostled several persons in Piccadilly on his way 
 to it. An old gentleman called him a " bear." " Not 
 always," said Sam to himself. " Sometimes a bull, but 
 always the right animal, fortunately j hope I'm going to 
 reverse the old proverb about luck in love ; though my luck 
 is not at cards, they say the Stock Exchange is as bad as 
 cards. Am I really going to be lucky in love as well ? " 
 
 All kinds of romantic hopes went rattling through his 
 
310 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 seem to have time to call a cab, and then the distance was 
 so short. Besides, he did not want to speak to anyone 
 but himself. He handed in his message, paid for the 
 stamps, stuck them upon the form with the greatest care, 
 and waited until he saw the despatch on the operator's 
 desk. 
 
 At twenty minutes to nine to the second, the brougham 
 was at the door. The luggage was inside and out. 
 
 " Too much luggage," said Sam in an interrogative 
 fashion and somewhat fidgetty. 
 
 '' Think not, sir." 
 
 " I can send for more clothes if I want them." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 * Will your assistant know what to send ? " 
 
 '' Yes, sir." 
 
 ** Don't quite know what I'm going to do, or how long I 
 shall be away." 
 
 " Have arranged accordingly, sir." 
 
 "You have." 
 
 *' Yes, sir." 
 
 " That's all right. Don't want to be bothered." 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Wire for cabin on board the boat." 
 
 '' Yes, sir." 
 
 " And for special compartment from Calais.** 
 
 ** Yes, sir." 
 
 " Get one at Charing Cross to Dover if you can." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 Devereux accomplished everything as Sam desired. He 
 always did. His silver and golden keys opened locks and 
 hearts. And Devereux was just as generous in using 
 Sam's money as the master was himself. 
 
 The boat was not crowded. Sam found a fairly com- 
 fortable cabin. But he paced the deck from start to landing. 
 It was a starlight night. He built castles up in the clouds. 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 31 1 
 
 Not only built them but furnished them. His principal 
 castle was a pretty detached house at Kensington. It had 
 stables, a garden, and was decorated under the personal 
 direction of Dolly Norcott, Jenny and himself. They spent 
 most of the spring months in finding it and putting it in 
 order. Before the season was over they were married at 
 St. George's, Hanover Square. All this was pleasant 
 dreaming. Of course the breakfast would take place at 
 Westbury Lodge ; that is if they had a breakfast. Proba- 
 bly Mrs. Milbanke would prefer the new fashion of an 
 afternoon wedding and an evening reception ; or rather 
 was it evening or afternoon ; he forgot which ; but it was 
 ** the swell thing" he thought now not to have breakfast. 
 
 The night was very calm. Sam smoked. So did Deve- 
 reux. The servant, however, kept clear of the master. 
 He was one of those perfect retainers who know exactly 
 when to be on hand and when not. Devereux had not 
 read the telegram from Venice, but he had come to the 
 conclusion that the expedition was one of a very personal 
 character. He knew it was not a business trip. He knew 
 it was not one of pleasure apart from the Milbankes. He 
 knew that his master had no real pleasure outside that par- 
 ticular family. He knew his master was in love with Miss 
 Norcott. He knew of the engagement of that young lady 
 to his master's rival. He knew she had gone to Italy with 
 her sister and brother-in-law. He knew that Mr. Philip 
 Forsyth was traveling in their company. All London 
 knew that the rising young student son of Lady Forsyth 
 had gone to paint in Venice, and all the section of London 
 which read the Mor?iing Post knew that he was engaged to 
 Miss Norcott, the daughter of the eminent and long since 
 retired city merchant, and sister-in-law of the wealthy 
 young city lawyer, Mr. Walter Milbanke. Therefore, De- 
 vereux was a trifled worried about his master's trip, 
 although he had quietly said to himself that he should not 
 
312 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 wonder " if Samuel Swynford, Esquire, did not come out 
 trumps in that affair yet." 
 
 It was not Sam's lot to engage in any adventure on his 
 way to Milan. He met no fascinating beauty en route. 
 Had he done so he would have compared her so much to 
 her disadvantage with Dolly Norcott that she would not 
 have stirred his imagination even into a desire for a flirtation. 
 Moreover, he had no mysterious attachment, as Philip For- 
 syth had, when that gallant had renewed his acquaintance 
 with the countess at Victoria Station. Sam was as true to his 
 ideal Dolly as if she had never snubbed liim, as if she had 
 never warned him they could not be any nearer than friends, 
 as if indeed she had not been engaged to his rival. He was 
 a curious mixture, this prosperous young man of business. 
 The secret of Sam's success on the Stock Exchange lay in 
 his never losing his head, as his friends said. And yet, 
 contemplating him in the midst of his city work, you might 
 have doubted the truth of this judgment. Cordiner said 
 of him : 
 
 *' Sam Swynford is an enthusiast ; it isn't excitement, the 
 apparent nervousness you think you detect in him when 
 he is doing a big thing ; it is the enthusiasm of the moment, 
 that's what it is ; the same kind of enthusiasm that gives a 
 soldier the dash and pluck necessary in a charge ; the 
 impulse, so to speak, of the moment. But that over, there 
 is no firmer, no more solid operator than Sam Swynford ; 
 a young fellow who never wobbles ; is never doubtful about 
 what is the right thing to do ; doesn't ask advice ; is as 
 firm as a rock and as hard for^the time ; though, mind you, 
 one of the most generous fellows living." 
 
 This description of Sam was no doubt correct, and will 
 account for the quiet, steady, respectful way in which Sam 
 approached his destiny at Venice* 
 
 " I can arrange everything to your satisfaction," he 
 repeated calmly. " There is only one meaning in those 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. . 313 
 
 words. She knows the only thing that can satisfy me. I 
 told lier I had made a heap of money ; I told her why I 
 had not proposed to Dolly ; I told her that I would have 
 done so if I had been in the position I then was at Lady 
 Forsyth's party. What is it ? Have they quarreled ? Has 
 Dolly rebelled? Has she discovered that she really does 
 like me ? We were always such good friends. She treated 
 me as a sort of tame cat, I must allow ; a kind of poor 
 relation ; a brother, say. But we were great friends, and 
 she knew I worshipped her. Perhaps Forsyth thought she 
 would worship him. A conceited chap, Forsyth ; like all 
 those fellows who get their bread at the West End instead 
 of in the city ; like all professional fellows as against 
 trade and commerce and even banking. If Dolly likes it 
 I'll be a banker, anything in fact. I have money enough 
 to leave the city altogether if she wishes it. We shall see. 
 Perhaps it is some trifling affair after all. Forsyth may be 
 in difficulties ? Or Mrs. Milbanke may have been specu- 
 lating ? Or Walter ? No, that is too absurd. There has 
 been a row. Mrs. Milbanke is a clever woman. She 
 knows exactly what I feel about Dolly. She is going to 
 play me off against the painter. Well, let her, I don't mind. 
 I have thought sometimes that Dolly really likes me as well 
 as she likes Forsyth, Besides, she is accustomed to 
 my society. I know what pleases her. Women may 
 pretend not to care for all sorts of little attentions : 
 they may profess they don't like too much worship. 
 I believe if I did not feel such a fool when I am with Dolly 
 I should have got on better. Why am I such an ass when 
 I am at the Milbankes' ? It is only when Dolly is there 
 that I don't feel like myself. Self-consciousness, I sup- 
 pose. I don't suffer from that folly in the city, nor at the 
 club." 
 
 At intervals along the journey this is how Sam's thoughts 
 rambled on. It would have been very clear to Cordiner, 
 
314 . BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 if he could have had the smallest clue to Sam's feeling, 
 that if he did not lose his head he had long since lost his 
 heart. Let us hope that the worthy young man of stocks 
 and shares and financial adventure may not have lost it in 
 vain. 
 
 When he arrived at Milan he found the following tele- 
 gram awaiting him : — 
 
 '* T/ia?tks^ dearfrie7id — no mistake— feel that you Iiave 
 guessed my object aright, your happiness a?id hers. 
 
 " Jenny Milbanke." 
 
 Sam smiled as he read and re-read Jenny's message. All 
 the world seemed new to him. The hotel could not hold 
 him. He went out into the city. He walked for miles. 
 He was in no hurry, as it seemed to Sam, to go on. What 
 had come over him ? Had things gone wrong ? No, he 
 was convinced that everything was going right. 
 
 " Pleasant city this, Devereux." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Seen the Cathedral?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 " See it." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " I shall not go on until the morning." 
 
 ** Very well, sir." 
 
 "Want to arrive at Venice at night." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " To-morrow night." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Shall go and sleep for an hour or two." 
 
 ** You look tired, sir." 
 
 " I am. First train in the morning." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 Sam had not slept a wink since he left London. Jenny's 
 telegram had given him a new spell of wakeful life. But 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 315 
 
 now that he had built a number of fresh castles in the air, 
 and with every prospect, as it seemed to him, of their 
 realization, an exposition of sleep came over him ; and the 
 man who never lost his head, according to Cordiner (who 
 never took the heart into consideration), went to bed, and 
 when he awoke after eight hours he thouglit he had not 
 closed his eyes for more than a minute, though he felt won- 
 derfully refreshed. 
 
 Meanwhile the last festal lamps were flickering out in 
 Venice. Old Time, the scene-shifter, was preparing for 
 further strange developments of this present drama of love 
 and vengeance, of comedy incidents and tragic situations. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 EXIT PHILIP FORSYTH : ENTER SAM SWYNFORD. 
 
 " The sooner we leave Venice the better," said Mrs. Mil- 
 banke to her devoted and genial partner. '' Whether Mr. 
 Forsyth remains or not is of no moment to us : we have 
 done with Philip Forsyth forever, and I think we are well 
 out of him." 
 
 " I suppose so," said Walter, lighting a cigar, and 
 looking contemplatively across the lagoon. " I'm not sure, 
 my dear." 
 
 '' I think I am." 
 
 " It is all very sudden and very different from what we 
 arranged." 
 
 " It is," said Jenny, taking a seat by his side and casting 
 her eyes in the same direction, but speaking as if she 
 were addressing an imaginary Walter somewhere" in the 
 neighborhood of the Lido." 
 
 They were sitting in the open balcony under a pleasant 
 awning, the sun dancing upon the water beneath them. 
 
315 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 and fro, and there was a great air of calm and repose in 
 the atmosphere, which was in pleasant contrast with the 
 recent bustle and excitement of the Royal fStes. The 
 King and Queen had left amidst salvoes of artillery and 
 braying of trumpets, and whether the Countess Stravensky 
 had followed in their wake or preceded them, was an open 
 question upon which Walter could not satisfy his inquiring 
 spouse. The mysterious disappearance of General Petrono- 
 vitch was the talk of Venice, and it was half hinted on all 
 hands that he had gone away to keep some mysterious 
 rendezvous with the countess. His wife, the Princess 
 Radna, still remained in Venice, but the courteous 
 manager of the hotel had informed Mrs. Milbanke that 
 her Highness had given instructions to her people for 
 their return to Paris on the morrow. 
 
 Walter and Jenny had discussed these incidents of fact 
 and gossip over breakfast, but without being moved by 
 them very much either one way or the other, their im- 
 mediate interest in life at the moment being concentrated 
 upon Dolly and Sam Swynford. Walter was enjoying his 
 after-breakfast cigar, and endeavoring to lay out his plans 
 for the remainder of their Italian trip. 
 
 " You see," he continued, still looking across the lagoon 
 and trying to blow a cloud of smoke after his thoughts, 
 '' I had made my arrangements for a stay of at least a 
 month here in Venice ; and indeed have taken these 
 rooms for that time." 
 
 " I know," said Jenny, " but Dolly's plans were of a 
 much more serious character than that. She had settled, 
 not for a month, but for life." 
 
 " And her scheme still holds good," said Walter, smiling, 
 *' only she has changed her traveling companion." 
 
 " Well, and so have we," said Jenny, endeavoring to 
 drop into Walter's semi-philosophic vein ; " only that our 
 trip is a summer holiday." 
 . " You think she loves Swynford ? " 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 317 
 
 ** I'm sure she does," said Jenny, " and has loved him 
 all the time, even when she accepted Mr. Philip Forsyth." 
 
 "Then why did she accept him?" asked Walter. 
 
 " Now, my dear," said Jenny, with the faintest suspicion 
 of irritability, "don't let us go over that again. I a"n 
 quite willing to assume my share of the blame of it, all 
 the blame, if necessary ; but I thought we had concluded 
 our little controversy on that point last night. I'm sure 
 I never slept a wink, what with your reiteration of the 
 salient points, as you called them, and my thinking of 
 them over and over again, afterwards. For heaven's sake 
 let us say no more about responsibilities. Blame me, if 
 you like, entirely." 
 
 " My dear," said Walter, taking her hand affectionately, 
 still gazing out across the lagoon, "we are both to blame." 
 
 " Very well, then," replied Jenny, " there is an end of it. 
 We have done the right thing at last." 
 
 "You really think so ? " said Walter. 
 
 " I am sure so," she replied. " Mr. Philip Forsyth 
 thought more of his art than of Dolly, and finally more of 
 that intriguing countess than of either his art or Dolly." 
 
 " Has the countess really left Venice ? " asked Walter. 
 
 " No doubt of it," Jenny replied ; '* and Philip has not 
 been seen in this hotel for the last two days." 
 
 " You know that his luggage is still here," said Walter. 
 
 " Part of it — part of it," said Jenny, with some irritation. 
 " It seems he took away his large portmanteau, and I am 
 quite sure the porter has some secret understanding about 
 forwarding the rest after him." 
 
 " It is all very strange," said Walter. '' If he had said 
 * good-bye ' — left a note — sent a telegram — done anything 
 that we might have acted upon, our position would have 
 been so much more satisfactory." 
 
 " His conduct," said Jenny, " is all the more scandalous. 
 It is evident to me that there was a rivalry between thi^ 
 
3i8 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 wretched General Petronovitch and Philip, a rivalry which 
 we shall hear more of. The Princess Radna, I am told, 
 intends to obtain a divorce j she will lay her case before 
 the Czar himself." 
 
 " Does it strike you at all," asked Walter, for the first time 
 turning towards his wife and neglecting his cigarette, " that 
 this General Petronovitch may have met with foul play?" 
 
 *' No ; why should it? This is not ancient Venice. 
 What foul play could possibly haj)pen to him, except the 
 foul play that is evidently part of his character ; the foul 
 play of a reprobate ? " 
 
 " And Philip ? " continued Walter, interrogatively ; " you 
 arc quite satisfied in your own mind that he is under no 
 restraint, that he left us voluntarily, and is away for liis 
 own wicked purposes ? " 
 
 "I only know," Jenny replied, ''that his conduct at 
 the countess' reception was shameful ; that his manner 
 towards the hostess was that of a weak fool under tlie 
 fascinations of a designing woman ; that his withdrawal 
 from our society the next day, and his appearance with 
 the Countess Stravensky in her ostentatious gondola, 
 are a sufficient justification of what we have thought 
 desirable in the interest of Dolly." 
 
 '' But you didn't see him, my dear, in the gondola." 
 
 "Beppodid," she replied, "and Beppo saw the boat 
 turn into the little canal, which has a side entrance into 
 the palace where she gave her very mixed and Bohemian 
 reception."' 
 
 " You thought differently of the reception, my dear, when 
 she invited us, and were tremendously impressed with it 
 until " 
 
 " Philip made a fool of himself," exclaimed Jenny, 
 interrupting her argumentative lord ; " and why you will 
 go on repeating a'.l this, and come back to it as if we were 
 discussing it now for the first time, and had not sat up 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 3I9 
 
 half the night similarly engaged, I cannot, for the life of 
 me, understand. Philip deserted us, and practically threw 
 over Dolly ; we shall not admit this outside our own little 
 family circle, but that is the fact. Dolly was shamefully 
 jilted. We only say that, I repeat, to ourselves. Sam 
 Swynford comes upon the scene ; proposes for Dolly, as 
 he had intended to do some weeks ago ; is accepted ; 
 Dolly is happy ; Swynford is a good fellow, and he is 
 happy; and what in heaven is the matter with you, 
 Walter ? " 
 
 •' How came Swynford here at all ? It is that which 
 puzzles me," said Walter. '' If you had been perfectly 
 frank with me, I don't suppose we should have had these 
 discussions. You are keeping something back." 
 
 Again he turned his face interrogatively upon Jenny. 
 She pressed his hand and rose to her feet. 
 
 *' You are always in such a hurry, Walter. I should 
 have told you all in good time ; and I am sure you will 
 forgive me now if you compel me to confess before I 
 meant to. The telegram I sent to my dressmaker was 
 not to my dressmaker at all ; it was a private message to 
 Sam Swynford, inspired thereto by our conversation at 
 Lady Forsyth's, and suggested to him that he should come 
 to Venice." 
 
 " I thought so," said Walter. 
 
 " If you thought so, why didn't you say so ; it would 
 have spared us so much irritation." 
 
 '' I am not irritated," said Walter, " and you know I 
 would spare your feelings in every possible way; your 
 subterfuge about the dressmaker was unworthy; and it 
 was unkind also to keep me in the dark." 
 
 '■'• I feel it was, dear ; I know it was. I confess it. I 
 apologize ; my only excuse is that Dolly was with us when 
 I told the little fib about the message ; I could not, of 
 course, take her into my confidence ; as for you, dear, I 
 humbly ask your forgiveness." 
 
320 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 She flu:ig her arms round her lawful critic, deposited 
 her head upon his shoulder, and Walter gave her what he 
 considered to be a triumphant kiss. 
 
 "" Now then," he said cheerfully, '' that's all right. I 
 forgive you ; we understand each other. I have no doubt 
 you did the right thing ; I have no doubt Dolly has done 
 the right thing ; I am sure Sam Swynford has ; and I am 
 quite sure that Philip Forsyth has behaved shamefully." 
 
 " Walter, you are a darling ! " exclaimed his wife, re- 
 turning his kiss. "■ And now, what are your plans "> " 
 
 " To get out of Venice at once as you proposed," said 
 Walter ; and, as he said so, they both, by mutual impulse, 
 left the balcony as if to pack ; but they were both attracted 
 by the entrance of the manager of the hotel. 
 
 " A letter," he said, *' very urgent, for Mr. Milbanke." 
 
 Walter opened it. It was from Philip Forsyth — only a 
 few lines : — 
 
 " Forgive me. Accept my abject regrets and apologies. Dolly 
 will easily forgive me. I am utterly unworthy of her and of your 
 friendship. Tell her so. We shall probably never meet again. I 
 have left Venice on a long journey. My conduct on the night of the 
 Countess Stravensky's reception may explain my change of plans and 
 life. I feel it due to you to say this. No one need be alarmed as to 
 my safety. I have written to my mother. If ever you and yours think 
 of me again, remember me when most I seemed entitled to your respect 
 and esteem. 
 
 *'Philip Forsyth." 
 
 *• Thank you," said Walter, turning to the manager. 
 "*' There is no answer." 
 
 '' The messenger did not wait," said the manager. 
 
 " You have instructions to forward on the remainder of 
 Mr. Forsyth's baggage ? " 
 
 ■' Yes, sir, it goes to Paris." 
 
 «^ I am sorry," said Walter, " to tell you that this has 
 broken up our little party. We shall leave to-morrow for 
 \\iQ Jakes and Switzerland ; but we are very much in- 
 
BY ORDER OF THL CZAR. 321 
 
 debted to you for your kindness and attention. We shall 
 pay for your rooms until the end of the term for which I 
 engaged them, and we shall hope to return next spring 
 for a long stay in Venice. Any loss that you may have 
 sustained by our monopoly of the hotel during the fdtes I 
 shall discharge with pleasure." 
 
 '■'■ Monsieur is most generous," said the manager. " I 
 hold myself at your command." With which the cour- 
 ijous host withdrew, and Walter and his wife returned to 
 the subject in hand. 
 
 '• That letter, my dear," said Jenny, '' is our justifi- 
 cation." 
 
 ** Yes," said Walter, "it relieves my mind very con- 
 siderably. I should have felt troubled about leaving 
 Venice without having something definite from Forsyth. 
 Now all we have to do is to try and forget the disagree- 
 able part of our journey, to look upon what has happened 
 as all for the best, and continue our holiday in a cheerful 
 spirit." 
 
 " We never, my dear AValter, were more unanimous 
 upon any subject. Where do you propose to go ? " 
 
 '' I think we might spend a few days at Verona, a week 
 or two at Belaggio, and then travel quietly through 
 Switzerland and home by Paris." 
 
 " Delightful," said Jenny, as Dolly and Sam Swynford 
 entered the room. " Don't you think so ? " she said, 
 addressing Dolly and her new fiance. 
 
 " The morning," said Dolly, " or what ? Venice is 
 certainly lovely. Sam has given me an ice at Florian's, 
 and I have been feeding the pigeons." 
 
 " For sixty seconds," said Sam, cheerily, " I was afraid 
 the pigeons were going to feed on Dolly. She was 
 literally in a cloud of feathers. I had positively to rescue 
 
 fxer," 
 
 %\ 
 
322 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 " Not the first rescue," said Dolly, with a f»fink, 
 affectionate expression in her dancing eyes that compre- 
 hended the whole group. 
 
 " Your sister," said Sam, " is a trifle mysterious or 
 mischievous — don't know which ; both, perhaps. She has 
 been saying that all the way here, and yet I'm sure the 
 ice was harmless enough. If it had been punch a la 
 Romaine — well, there, I'll say no more about it, except 
 between our four selves that this is the happiest moment 
 of my life." 
 
 *' There ! " said Dolly, ''and you've said that before." 
 
 *' And on many occasions," said Jenny, merrily. '' Wal- 
 ter always says it when he makes a speech." 
 
 " Come to think of it," said Sam, ''you are possibly 
 right. Don't remember that I ever made more than two 
 or three speeches in my life, and I believe I have always 
 rung in that convenient expression. But I hope that 
 doesn't take away from its point to-day. If I had wings 
 like those pigeons, I think I should just soar right up into 
 that blue sky and come tumbling down again in very fun, 
 just as one of the fluffiest of them did after he made the 
 acquaintance of Dolly." 
 
 " I daresay," said Walter. " Have a cigar ? " 
 
 " I'll have anything you like, my dear boy." 
 
 " Dolly," said Waiter, as she stood there beaming upon 
 him, " sit down, and don't look so miserable. If you 
 have any little purchases to make, take a little rest and go 
 out and make them ; we leave Venice to-morrow." 
 
 " Leave Venice ! " exclaimed Swynford, looking at 
 Dolly. 
 
 " Leave Venice ! " said Dolly, looking at Jenny. 
 
 " We are tired of Venice," said Jenny. " But we are 
 not going home ; don't be afraid. What do you say to 
 the Lake of Como, Sam ? " 
 
 " The Lake of Como," replied Swynford, " where the 
 marble palace lifts its something to eternal summer and 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 323 
 
 blushes forth in the midst of roses, or what is it? I'm 
 not good at poetical quotation." 
 
 " Quite good enough," said Walter. " That's the 
 place." 
 
 *' And a little cottage in a shabby village when we get 
 there ? " said Swynford. 
 
 '' By no means," said Walter. 
 
 ' It was so in the play, you know," said Swynford, 
 turning to Dolly. 
 
 *' This is not a play," rejoined Walter, " and we don't 
 want any of your comedy dialogue, Sam ; only a little of 
 your common sense." 
 
 " All right," said Sam. "Proceed; all my common sense 
 is at your disposal. Not got much of it, but such as it is 
 and all I have pray command me." 
 
 '^ Do you propose to give us the pleasure of your 
 company ? " asked Walter. 
 
 " I propose to give myself the pleasure of your com- 
 pany." 
 
 " For how long ? " asked Walter. 
 
 " Until you're tired of me ; and as regards Dolly, even 
 a little longer." 
 
 "You talked this morning of sending to London for 
 some luggage." 
 
 " I have sent for my Sunday clothes," said Sam, 
 laughing. 
 
 " To this address ? " 
 
 " To the Hotel Milano." 
 
 " Do you think they are on their way by this ? " 
 
 " I hope so." 
 
 " Very well, then ; you can give instructions at the 
 Hotel Milano to have them sent on to the Hotel Bel- 
 aggio." 
 
 " Consider it done, my dear Walter," said Sam. 
 
 " I am going up to the station now," said Walter " to 
 arrange for a saloon carriage to Verona." 
 
324 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 " Will Dolly come," said Swynford. *' and Mrs. Mil- 
 banke?" 
 
 " They had better rest a little," said Walter. " We will 
 come back, and I propose that later we spend an hour in 
 St. Mark's. There are some little things Jenny would like 
 to buy, and then we will go over to the Lido and dine." 
 
 " You had better place yourself entirely in Walter's 
 hands," said Jenny to Sam. 
 
 '-'■ Most happy," said Sam. " Walter* give the word ; I 
 am with you." 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 MODERN LOVERS IN ANCIENT VERONA. 
 
 There is probably no more interesting city in all Italy 
 than Verona, where Shakespeare's *' Two Gentlemen " 
 took their walks abroad, and Romeo and Juliet lived, 
 loved and died. Whether the tomb they show you is 
 Juliet's or not^ the town is that of the Capulets and the 
 Montagues, and the air pulsates with romantic possibili- 
 ties. 
 
 To begin with, the place is delightfully situated on a 
 rapid river ; it is within the mighty shadows of the Alps ; 
 it has a Roman amphitheatre, more complete and beautiful 
 than the Colosseum at Rome ; it is a city of palaces and 
 balconies, of frescoed houses, and narrow, picturesque 
 streets. 
 
 Standing in the Piazza del Signori, you feel that not 
 only is that story of Romeo and Juliet possible, but true. 
 At night, meeting there two or three groups of noisy 
 young citizens coming home from some local festival, you 
 may feel assured they will bite their thumbs at each 
 Other. 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 325 
 
 English travelers bound to Milan, on the one hand, 
 or to Venice on the other, rarely make Verona more 
 than a resting-place for the night ; but it is well worth the 
 sojourn of a week. Your hotel is one of the fine old 
 Scaligeri palaces. 
 
 It was the Saturday market on one of the days of the 
 Milbankes' stay there, and they found the courtyard of 
 the Palace of the Capulets full of market carts and 
 tethered horses ; the adjacent and surrounding buildings 
 evidently humble lodging-houses, but even these had 
 balconies, and were artistic in decay. 
 
 " Murray " says there are more baiconies in Verona 
 than in any other city of Italy. Walter was very happy in 
 his pleasant allusions to modern Romeos and Juliets, and 
 to those who flirted in the balconies of old. Sam was 
 delighted at any reference to his engagement with Dolly, 
 who had some little difficulty now and then in restraining 
 what Jenny had informed her was a too jubilant view of 
 her position. 
 
 "■ The fact is, my dear," said Dolly to Jenny, " I feel as 
 if I had had an awful escape. If I had been rescued 
 from a fire or shipwreck, and had got well over it ; or, to 
 be more prosaic, had been very ill in crossing from Calais 
 to Dover, had quite recovered, and had a good dinner, I 
 couldn't have felt more contented than I do now." 
 
 " But you mustn't let Sam see it." 
 
 *' Why not ? " said Dolly. '* He is under the impres- 
 sion that I gave up Philip, not Philip me, and I really 
 don't care whether he knows the entire truth or not. I 
 have told him I am very happy, that even when I seemed 
 to hold him at a distance I always loved him. You 
 know, dear, you gave me a lot of advice about Philip. 
 Don't you think it would be just as well to let me alone 
 now to go my own way ? " 
 
 *' Well, perhaps — perhaps," said Jenny. " I own I was 
 not very wise about the Forsyth business. But what is 
 
326 /?F ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 this ? Why, this is the market-place. Walter, is not this 
 tlie market-place ? " 
 
 '' Yes, dear," said Walter. '' Don't you remember we 
 saw a picture of it in the Walker Gallery at Man- 
 chester ? " 
 
 " No," said Jenny, " I never saw a picture half so 
 beautiful anywhere." And the present chronicler is al- 
 most inclined to agree with this admiring exclamation. 
 
 Imagine the market-place at Nottingham or Yarmouth, 
 the houses tall, some frescoed, one a palace, all with 
 balconies ; at the north end a pillar bearing aloft the 
 marble effigy of the lion of St. Mark ; on the south a 
 temple ; in the centre an ancient fountain with a statue of 
 the Virgin. Above this imagine a blue, far-away sky ; 
 and on the floor of the market numberless stalls, pro- 
 tected by great white umbrellas ; at the base of St. Mark's 
 pillar a group of Italian men and women from the 
 country, looking exactly like a peasant chorus out of a 
 grand opera, so much so that you expect them every now 
 and then to burst forth into song. Then imagine the 
 market itself full of vegetables and flowers, and cattle and 
 poultry, mostly presided over by Italian women, with 
 handkerchiefs about their heads (and occasionally a man- 
 tilla) not unlike the head-dress of Manchester factory 
 girls ; and all round the market busy shops ; whenever you 
 get a peep out of the square down some side street you 
 catch glimpses of the facades, ancient palaces or narrow- 
 gabled thoroughfares. Add to all this Italian soldiers, 
 policemen (in tall hats, with silver-tipped walking-sticks), 
 priests in solemn costume, wrinkled old men with equally 
 wrinkled umbrellas, blue-eyed Italian girls, and stately 
 housewives marketing. If you can put all this together 
 in any kind of shape you may form some idea of the 
 Verona market. 
 
 Among the cries of tlie miscellaneous vendors of goods 
 and hawkers of minor articles of trade, " quatro chinka, 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR, 327 
 
 chinka, chinka," '' stivola," '' pollastro," seemed continu- 
 ally ill oral evidence, the '' chinka, chinka," of an old 
 lady (like the grandmother of one ofOuida's peasant hero- 
 ines, of a strange and an antique mould) rising calmly 
 above the rest. She sold four and five pieces of fish for a 
 penny. Her competitors dealt in boots and shoes, chickens, 
 cheese, crockery, flowers — what indeed, did they not 
 sell? 
 
 And this fine old market of white umbrellas, with the 
 sun playing all kinds of fantastic tricks with its various 
 wares, was the Forum in olden days. The building we 
 spoke of as a Temple we find was the Tribune, " to which 
 the newly-elected-Capitano del Popolo of the Free City, 
 after having heard Mass at the Cathedral, was conducted, 
 and in which, after he had addressed the people, he was 
 invested with the insignia of office." In after times the 
 sentences of condemned criminals were pronounced from 
 this Tribune. Proclamations were made from it, and debt- 
 ors were here compelled to submit to a humiliating punish- 
 ment. In all bright scenes, however sunny, the shadow 
 always comes. 
 
 As they left the market, they met the prison van on its 
 way to the local Newgate ; but even this conveyance had 
 a gay appearance. The officers in charge, in new cocked 
 hats and bright swords, were chatting with the driver, a 
 peasant, who was calmly smoking a cigarette. Beggary 
 does not excite your sympathy as it does in London. The 
 Italian mendicant is dirty, perhaps ; unaffectedly lazy, but 
 he looks warm in his rags. There is a terrible reality 
 about most of the London beggars ; and the professionals, 
 whom Mr. Ribton-Turner, in his book on Vagrancy, has 
 immortalized, can " assume a wretchedness " so keenly 
 that they compel your pity. Nevertheless no Verona beg- 
 gar made an unavailing appeal to Sam Swynford during this 
 happy time at Verona ; and, full of his romantic success 
 
328 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 with Dolly and the realization of his dearest hopes, the 
 poetic city now and then seemed to stimulate Sam into 
 unexpected flashes of intellectuality. 
 
 On the last night of their visit to Verona, the Milbanke 
 party were favored with special permission to visit, by 
 moonlight, the arena where the Christian martyrs were 
 driven from their prisons out among the wild beasts, to 
 audiences of captains, senators, ladies, priests, and the po- 
 pulace. He would have been indeed insensible to poetry 
 or human sympathy who could have seen the moonbeams 
 faUing upon the marble seats and the broken arches without 
 a pitying sigh for the past, and a grateful reflection upon 
 the privileges of liberty and toleration in the present. Sam 
 Swynford felt as they wandered through the great solemn 
 place, a strong inspiration of protection towards Dolly, 
 which she reciprocated in a more or less comfortable nestle 
 under the wing, or to put it without metaphor, under the 
 strong arm of her prosperous young London lover. 
 
 When they were most inclined to linger over sentimen- 
 tal reflections about the scenes in the arena, Walter Mil- 
 banke was busy with thoughts of his final show, which was 
 the Tomb of Juliet in the moonlight. " Not," he said, as 
 he led the way with the guide to the carriage which awaited 
 them at the entrance of the Colosseum, " Juliet's Tomb 
 as ordinary visitors see it, but all to ourselves with this 
 glorious moon." 
 
 Driving through the pleasant streets, and saluted here 
 and there by the music of evidently social evenings which 
 gave occasional light and merriment to sundry houses en 
 rouU, they presently came to a quieter part of Verona, 
 lighted only by the great white moon. They approached 
 the pleasant corner selected for Juliet's apocryphal tomb 
 through an old-fashioned garden, with patches of green 
 turf and blooming gilliflowers, rows of peas in blossom 
 that rivalled the white Marguerite daisies in the moonlight 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR, 329 
 
 and a rich perfume from beans in flower and the scent of 
 many herbs. It was a mixed garden of the English kind ; 
 that seemed unconsciously to lend itself to the Juliet illu- 
 sion of the English poet. Even Walter was subdued by 
 its unostentatious beauty, and the little party followed the 
 old lady who opened the garden gate upon the narrow way 
 that led to the great stone coffin which, as a matter of sen- 
 timent and imagination, the world is willing to accept as 
 a relic of the Shakespearean story. 
 
 It was somewhat out of keeping with the romance of the 
 scene to find the great stone sarcophagus half-full of visit- 
 ing cards, the prosaic character of which was not quite 
 redeemed by the one or two faded wreaths that hung about 
 the tomb. But it was all, nevertheless, very lovely and im- 
 pressive in the moonlight and without the presence of 
 other sightseers; and the Milbankes, with their newly- 
 engaged companions, drove to their hotel, being generally 
 more or less under the impression that they possessed a 
 far higher and poetic appreciation of the beautiful than 
 any of them had imagined. 
 
 That same silvery moon, however — which seemed to 
 look down with special approval upon Verona — cast only 
 fitful and furtive beams upon a weird ghost-like figure that 
 appeared to a party of Venetian fishermen sailing their 
 picturesque vessel through the water-gateway of the Adri- 
 atic into the shimmering lagoons of the City-in-the-Sea. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 THE GHOST OF THE LAGOONS. 
 
 They were a fishing trio of the lagoons, Chiozotti, in fact, 
 well known for their industry and their piety. They had 
 been beating about most of the night without hauling in 
 anything worth mentioning, until it was nearly morning, 
 
330 
 
 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 and then naving called down a blessing from the saint 
 whom their brown illuminated sail glorified, their net had 
 filled to overflowing. They emptied it with much rejoicing 
 upon their reeking deck, and then spread their canvas to 
 catch the morning breeze for Venice. 
 
 It wanted yet an hour or so to dawn, the first opaline 
 advances of which began to move the curtains of the East- 
 ern sky. Only a handful of pale stars remained in the 
 heavens. The sea had been rough on the previous night, 
 and a strong under swell was left in memory of the passing 
 storm. The picturesque smack rose and fell with a regu- 
 lar cadenza of motion. 
 
 While one of the men steered and attended to the navi- 
 gation, the other two were busy getting their fish into the 
 hold, singing all the while a kind of answering chorus to 
 the chant of the steersman. 
 
 Presently the soloist paused in his song to gaze intently 
 to windward where he fancied he saw something in the 
 water. It was not a boat, nor was it a fish. It might be 
 a piece of floating wreckage. But it looked strangely like 
 some awful vision of the deep. The helmsman said nothing, 
 but crossed himself devoutly and looked in another direc- 
 tion. 
 
 The opaline glow that had at first been very faint now 
 gave place to streaks of pink and grey and red ; it looked 
 like a stormy breaking of the morning. 
 
 There was an unusual shadow, too, upon the sea, the 
 steersman thought. He feared to look to windward, though 
 he tried to smother a superstitious dread that came over 
 him in a repetition of his fisherman's chant, and again his 
 mates took up the refrain. He no longer saw the strange 
 weird something in the sea ; it was still there, nevertheless, 
 rising and falling with the swelling waves. Once in a way 
 the first beams of the morning fell upon it as if with inqui- 
 sitive glances. Then the shadowy forms of the Eu^aneau 
 
B V ORDER OF THE CZAR. 33I 
 
 hills begaii to assert their presence far away beyond the 
 mainland. Further North the cold white Alps were get- 
 ting ready to make their appearance on the distant back- 
 ground of the hazy picture. By and bye the islands of the 
 lagoons would put in their claims to recognition, but for 
 the moment there was only one object to be seen. 
 
 And now they all saw it. The fish with their shining 
 scales and bright dying eyes had been stowed away, and 
 suddenly the man at the helm pointed a long bony finger 
 in the direction of the ghost-like object to windward. The 
 thing was recognized in silence. It assumed an almost 
 upright attitude with the rising of the waves ; and as they 
 receded it floated backwards as a graceful swimmer might. 
 It did not, in taking this new position, however, buffet the 
 water as a live swimmer would, but rose and fell with a 
 ghostly rhythm of motion. When its head topped the 
 waves horizontally it showed a human face distorted, white 
 and swollen, with dark hair. 
 
 All three toilers of the deep now saw the apparition. 
 It was more than a ghost and less than a man. .Was it 
 some pernicious creature of the sea ? How should they 
 avoid it? * \'- 
 
 They tacked. They turned their eyes to leeward. They 
 made as if they would sail for the open sea. 
 
 The morning hesitated at the portals of day. Once or 
 twice it threatened to go back into the night. Unusual 
 clouds began to gather about the East. A heavy fall of 
 rain pattered down upon the sea. 
 
 The swimming figure followed the ship. They had both 
 struck the same current. The sailors now saw it in a new 
 quarter. They were afraid. Again they tacked. This 
 time the prow turned towards the Lido. The men had 
 resumed their course. 
 
 Presently a long streak of light illuminated the waters. 
 The rain ceased. It was nearly morning. The sun forced 
 silver lances up into the clouds. 
 
332 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 And now there could be no mistake. The figure was 
 human in form, but its face was a weird deformity. It was 
 a goblin, a monster, a something horrible. It had great 
 white hands that were steering it towards the ship. Its 
 head rose and fell with the waves. They could all see the 
 nameless thing. They fell upon their knees and com- 
 mended themselves to their saints, and more particularly 
 to her who had vouchsafed them their goodly haul of 
 fish. 
 
 Then they took counsel and came to a decision. The 
 monster was a ghost. They were convinced of it, these 
 three Chiozotti. They crowded all sail to get away from 
 it ; when suddenly, as if under the influence of the god of 
 day, tlie wind fell and there was a dead calm. The sea, 
 however, still rose and fell. There were no waves. But 
 the keel of the boat made a gurgle and a washing. The 
 sea seemed as if trying to break into a wave, but it only 
 slopped up against the ship's sides. One of the men 
 thought there was something like a sob accompanying the 
 bulging motion of the water. 
 
 They tempted the dead breeze from every point, but the 
 ship lay still, and the morning in silvery splendor began to 
 salute and glorify distant objects, flashing now and then 
 through the clouds into a white path across the lagoon 
 right up to the ship. In one of these passing illuminations 
 they saw the ghost clearly. 
 
 *' It is no ghost," said the bravest of the three ; " it is a 
 dead man." 
 
 " Did you ever see a dead man swimming with its arms 
 and legs as a live man swims ? " said the other, fortifying 
 himself with a long drink from a bottle which he handed 
 to his mates. 
 
 " It does indeed swim," said the helmsman ; " that's 
 true." 
 
 " What harm can come to us," said the first, " having 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 333 
 
 commended ourselves to the Virgin and to our own much 
 beloved and beholden-to saint ? " 
 
 " She did not help Pierre when we were wrecked and 
 lost our mate," said the helmsman. 
 
 " Forgive him, Santa Maria ! " exclaimed the second 
 fisherman ; " he knows not what he says ! 
 
 " It is no ghost, comrades," repeated the bravest of the 
 three, *' only a drowned man ; let us take him in tow." 
 
 '' What if he take us in tow ? " said the first of the Chio- 
 zotti. 
 
 *' Truly, what then ? " exclaimed the helmsman. " Look 
 at him ! Dead, do you say ? Yes, a dead-alive ; he 
 swims, don't you see it, first on his breast, then on his side, 
 and thirdly on his back. Do drowned men swim like 
 that?" 
 
 " It's the action of the waves," said the second fisherman, 
 taking another drink. 
 
 '' Strange action ! " said the first. 
 
 " Yes, I grant you," said the second ; *' but are we cow- 
 ards ? Have we been out in all weathers, and seen strange 
 sights by night and day, and are we going to be afraid now 
 that the sun is rising and Venezia begins to look across the 
 water to the Lido ? " 
 
 '* No," said the first spokesman. 
 
 *' What shall we do, good comrade ? " 
 
 '* Lower the boat and take the drowned man in tow ! " 
 said the other, handing the bottle to the steersman, who 
 emptied it and found himself more courageous by two 
 wine-glasses full. 
 
 '* But see," he said, ''nevertheless it is coming along of 
 its own accord. It needs no assistance ! " 
 
 " There will be a reward," said the second sailor. '' I 
 see gold lace ; it is the body of an officer in uniform." 
 
 " Don't romance," replied the first fisherman ; " it is the 
 glint of the sun on the water." 
 
334 ^^ ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 By this time the sun was really getting up in the heavens. 
 The sky was beginning to turn blue. Distant mountains 
 came nearer. 
 
 '' Lower the boat, boys," said the bravest of the three 
 men. " I will fasten a line to the ghost! " 
 
 The helmsman crossed himself as he lent a hand to 
 his mates, and presently the boat was slipping to the stern 
 where the second man dropped into her and began to pull 
 towards the strange figure "'hich seemed to be literally 
 playing with the waves. 
 
 " Yes," said the Chioggia fisherman as he approached it, 
 *' gold lace sure enough, but what a face ! and, mercy on 
 us, how dead-alive it looks with its hands waving up and 
 down. Ahoy, mate, heave to ! " with which exclamation 
 of personal encouragement he flung a thin rope across the 
 body and so manoeuvred it that in a minute or two he had 
 fastened a stronger one to it, and the ghost of the lagoon 
 answered to the tug of the boat which the fisherman began 
 to pull for the smack. 
 
 The vessel hove to, and the adventurer having fastened 
 his boat to the line flung out by the helmsman, scrambled 
 aboard. The ghost floated in companionship with the 
 vessel's boat, which dropped quietly astern. The Chioggia 
 smack now hoisted her painted sails and steered for the 
 channel by the Lido. 
 
 It was an ebb tide, and the water, as Mr. Symonds tells 
 us in his " Italian Sketches " at such time, runs past the 
 mulberry gardens of this pleasant hamlet like a river. The 
 fishing boat, with its ghastly figure at the stern, swung 
 into this rapid stream aided by a freshening breeze, and 
 from the other side of the Riva no doubt looked a pretty 
 object, as indeed it was if you took no note of its half- 
 submerged cargo — the dead passenger with its great white 
 hands and its equally white face, like soft, half-tanned 
 le^tjier. 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 335 
 
 On went the boat and its silent witness past the grove 
 of acacia trees which rise out of its tall green grasses, where 
 tlij first butterflies of summer were disporting themselves 
 fji- their brief hour or two of gay and radiant life. 
 
 Presently the vessel's course was changed for the Custom 
 House, and now she went gliding along with no swelling 
 motion, except such as the wooing wind gave her. 
 
 The sun was up. Venice was alive. A little crowd of 
 early workmen had gathered round the Victor Emmanuel 
 statue. The last remnants of the decorations were being 
 removed. The pigeons in the Grand Square of St. Mark's 
 were fluttering over their first meal of the day. The two 
 royal standards opposite the famous church were flying in 
 the morning breeze. 
 
 A cluster of gondolas were lying by the steps in the 
 shadow of the Lion of St. Mark's. Picturesque groups 
 of men and women were standing near. The gorgeous 
 palaces were glassing themselves in the Grand Canal with 
 blurred efi'ects of form and color made by the rippling 
 water. Round the corner of the Pizarro Palace where the 
 Countess Stravensky had looked down from the window 
 of her boudoir, however, the water was still and showed 
 every line of architecture, every lichen on the ancient 
 walls, every bit of ooze and green slime that clung to the 
 lower stones on the water's edge, but there was no trace 
 of the tragedy of the recent festival any more than there 
 was of those others which had preceded it in bygone days. 
 Nor had the wavelets in front of the palace anything to 
 show or to say of the magnificent reception, the gay and 
 festal music of which had been the dirge which Vengeance 
 had prepared for the Russian general who had presided 
 over the outrages of Czarovna. 
 
 All the world looked so happy on this morning as if the 
 bright sun, the soft breeze, the clear sky, the perfume of 
 flowers (brought from the mainland by a passing boat) 
 had been given as compensation for the closing of the 
 
33^ BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 royal festival ; or as if the spirit of Venice had risen up 
 to let her worshippers feel that the city in the sea needed 
 nothing of festival or music or royal guests, or flags and 
 banners, and painted boats to make her desirable, but 
 that she was loveliest with aught else but her own beauty. 
 
 And yet trailing along her dreamy city was that bleached 
 and ghastly thing that a little way off looked like a strong 
 swimmer at his ease, his extending arms and legs rising 
 and falling with the motion of the vessel in company with 
 which he was enjoying the bright gay morning. But what 
 a ghastly mockery it turned out to be when the Chioggia 
 smack cast anchor and dropped her sails. And what a 
 reception it had from the chattering crowd that collected 
 on the quay — all talking at once, some crossing themselves, 
 others professing to recognize the corpse, all presently 
 making way for the Custom House authorities and the 
 police. 
 
 " General Petronovitch," said one of the chiefs of police, 
 " he who disappeared on the night of the illuminations ; 
 and this (taking from the body a dagger that was entangled 
 rather with the clothing than with the flesh) the cause of 
 death, perhaps." 
 
 On the blade of the rusted knife could still be seen 
 deeply engraven a word of Arabic, which a learned priest 
 translated into Italian, French, and English. They were 
 the same Arabic letters as those that were embossed upon 
 the amulet that the Countess Stravensky wore at Mrs. 
 Chetwynd's reception, and the word was " Vengeance ! ** 
 
 Thus the judicial murderer of the Rabbi Losinski, the 
 assassin of the household peace and joy of the Klosstocks, 
 and the scourge of Czarovna, flung after execution into 
 the sea, had come back again to Venice a witness of the 
 far-reachiag hand of Nihilistic vengeance, 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 337 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 POETRY, PROSE, AND THE DEAD SWIMMER. 
 
 From Verona to Como is a day's journey. Under any 
 circumstances, there is no monotony in it, but traveling 
 in pleasant companionship it is perhaps one of the most 
 delightful of continental railway journeys. The scenery 
 is never uninteresting, and there are always in the distance 
 fine ranges of snow-capped mountains. 
 
 The happy English party from Venice, it need hardly be 
 said, found the trip full of a new and special interest. Dolly 
 was radiant. It needed no psychological student to dis- 
 cover that Sam Swynford was the selection of her heart. 
 If he had been wise in his estimation of female character, he 
 ought to have discovered in his earliest acquaintanceship 
 with Jenny's lively sister that her *' stand off-ishness " and 
 sallies of wit at his expense were only feminine indications 
 of interest, if not love. It was perhaps a little feline, 
 while she purred, to make her lover conscious of an 
 occasional scratch. Had the amiable young stockbroker 
 responded with the manful intimation that he was not 
 to be wounded with impunity nor without resentment, it 
 is quite possible that the shadow of Philip Forsyth might 
 never have fallen upon Dolly's fateful youth. She had in 
 her secret heart loved Swynford none the less that she had 
 occasionally made him su^er. It was only the trifling of 
 a somewhat coquettish nature. Swynford had, in slave- 
 Jike worship, flung himself at her feet, and she had placed 
 her foot upon his neck, not viciously, but with something of 
 
 the pride of conquest. She would have appreciated from 
 
 22 
 
^58 .8V ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 f>am the spirited response that such treatment would have 
 received from Philip Forsyth, because she knew that Sam 
 was devotedly attached to her. She had doubts of Philip, 
 was flattered by his attention, urged to accept him by her 
 sister, who had no other object but Dolly's social and 
 happy advancement in life. 
 
 The truth is, the two pretty young women were as much 
 above the average of their sex in genuine amiability as 
 they were in appearance and manners. They had, in the 
 course of their education and training, annexed uncon- 
 sciously some of the snobbishness of the upper middle 
 class in small social victories ; delighted in being received 
 in a higher grade of society than their neighbors ; found 
 in social success of this kind greater pleasure than should 
 belong to the honest performance of their home duties ; 
 liked of course to be admired rather for their beauty than 
 their intellectual qualities ; were ambitious more or less 
 selfishly for distinction in their husbands that they, the 
 wives, might assume the role of superior persons \ were, in 
 fact, good women with women's weaknesses. 
 
 No hostess was more gracious than Mrs. Milbanke, nor 
 m'ore successful in her popular little parties, and Dolly 
 might well be envied for her high spirits, her healthful 
 constitution, her bright eyes, and her unquestionable 
 beauty. Philip Forsyth had been proud to be seen escort- 
 ing her in the tents of Vanity Fair, proud of the attention 
 her happy, pretty face invoked, proud of the envy it ex- 
 cited among women, and the envy he excited as her irres- 
 pective husband. But Sam Swynford, in his. more com- 
 mon-place nature, had paid far higher tribute to Dolly's 
 natural fascinations than was possible to Philip Forsyth. 
 S m had no ambition apart from her. In every specula- 
 tion he was inspired with the hope of a future with Dolly. 
 He administered to her little vanities in every way that 
 was possible to his position as her admirer and an inti- 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 339 
 
 mate friend of the family. He remembered all the days 
 in which she was specially interested — Christmas, the New 
 Year, St. Valentine's, Easter, her birthday, Jenny's birth- 
 day, Walter's birthday. She always said he had excellent 
 taste in the choice of flowers, the binding of books, and 
 the selection of dainty bits of bric-a brae. But Jenny 
 could not forget that Sam had in his speech a suggestion 
 of North Country dialect, and was a little inclined to over- 
 dress, took no pains to cultivate aristocratic society, and 
 was, after all, only a stockbroker ; so that when Philip 
 Forsyth, with his distinguished style and manner, his 
 artistic prospects, his promising position in society, and 
 his notable circle of friends, came along as a rival to 
 Swynford, Mrs. Milbanke took Dolly's future into her 
 hands and brought about the engagement which had 
 ended so disastrously. She now congratulated herself 
 and her three companions on continuing their Italian 
 holiday with the new love, and being entirely off with the 
 old, and confessed to Walter that there was something 
 nobler in life than some of the aims which had engrossed 
 her ambition, upon the sunken rocks of which she had 
 nearly wrecked Dolly's future ; but Walter would not 
 hear of the smallest thought of self-abasement on the part 
 of his pretty and affectionate wife, and he vowed that he 
 had always felt somehow or other that everything would 
 come right for Dolly, although he was anxious to make 
 believe that if anyone was to blame for hastening that un- 
 fortunate engagement it was he himself. 
 
 Altogether the party was under the influence of affec- 
 tionate self-denial and mutual congratulation upon the 
 course events had taken. At present they did not, from 
 a sympathetic point of view, feel the shadow of Philip 
 Forsyth's strange disaffection, and they had no knowledge 
 of that sensation which the Ghost of the Lagoons had 
 created ii} Venice. 
 
340 ^y ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 They arrived at Como_, a picturesque city at the head 
 of the famous lake, where Walter had secured rooms at 
 the best hotel in the square by the quay where you take 
 the lake steamers or hire rowing boats. After an excel- 
 lent dinner Walter and Swynford sat in the balcony, 
 smoked their cigars, and watched the sunset. Dolly and 
 Jenny unpacked their valises and talked over the day's 
 adventures. 
 
 The next morning they were to go on to Bellaggio. 
 Sam and Walter were up with the lark, interested in study- 
 ing the picturesque and busy secularization of Sunday in 
 Italy, which is strikingly illustrated in this little city of 
 Como. Jugglers, hawkers, vendors of iced drinks, and 
 holiday people were in the Square from the earliest hour 
 on Sunday morning. Later, there were steamers arriving 
 with bands of music and democratic societies out for the 
 day. Members of rival and friendly associations met 
 these political combinations on the quay, where they 
 palavered and exchanged emphatic civilities. Their bands 
 Swynford considered to be nearly as bad as those of the 
 Salvation Army in England ; he hoped they had not 
 traveled all that distance to make the acquaintance of 
 such ribald music. Walter, discoursing with a bystander, 
 discovered that the musicians were hired for such occa- 
 sions as these by political administrators and the Odd 
 Fellows and Foresters of Italy. The banners of these 
 Orders were, however, more easily carried than those of 
 our English confraternities. They did not indulge in 
 those tremendous pictures which in England stretch right 
 across the streets and are borne aloft in high winds with 
 much sweat and struggle by even the strongest and 
 doughtiest of Oddfellows and the most stalwart of Robin 
 Hoods. 
 
 The square of Como was very busy all Sunday, and so 
 >vere the streets ; bus^ with people who were shopkeeping, 
 
BY ORDER OF 771 E CZAR. 34I 
 
 going to church, marketing, singing, working. At night 
 the vocalists were in the ascendancy, but, as Walter re- 
 marked, they did sing and they were not drunk. They 
 awoke the echoes of the surrounding hills with madrigals 
 and chorus. If the square of Como had been a thorough- 
 fare in an English city those bands of workmen and 
 holiday-makers would, it is to be feared, have been roaring 
 out some music-hall song or hiccoughing a vulgar chorus 
 of the slums. 
 
 " One goes from home," said Walter, " not only to see 
 how great England is in many things, but how small, not 
 to say brutal, she may be in others." 
 
 In the afternoon our English travelers said their 
 prayers with the rest of the church-going community, and 
 towards evening made their first little excursion on the 
 lake, which they navigated in dreamy sunshine on the 
 morrow. 
 
 Sweet and gentle searchers after truth have discovered 
 that Bulwer Lytton adapted his poetic description of the 
 Lake of Como from a foreign source ; other philanthropic 
 critics have at the same time ridiculed the poem as utterly 
 overdone being applied to the famous Italian lake. Per- 
 mit a humble worshipper of nature, and one who loves 
 art none the less, to say that Bulwer's half page of sug- 
 gestive description is only a famt indication of the spirit 
 and beauty of the Lake of Como. Why, there is even an 
 hotel at Bellaggio, half way down the lake, which goes 
 near to be worthy of the well-known lines : — 
 
 " A palace lifting to eternal summer 
 Its marble walls from out a glossy bower 
 Of coolest foliage, musical with birds." 
 
 The lake is a sheet of water thirty-five miles in length, 
 and every yard of it a picture of romantic beauty — high 
 sloping hills that hem you in now and then, making not 
 
342 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 one lake, but many ; hills that are clothed with foh'age 
 and backed at many points by distant Alps that aie 
 clothed in everlasting snow. As the steamer skirts the 
 shore you see that the gardens of the innumerable villas 
 are filled with flowers, that the houses are of all descrip- 
 tions, palaces, cottages, chalets, lodges, hotels ; as they 
 go high up into the mountains they dwindle off into the 
 cots of vineyard-tenders or herdsmen. It is wonderful 
 now and then to see up in the mountains villages which 
 look like flights of buildings that have settled down in 
 clusters as pigeons miglit, all in a heap, with a few trees 
 above them, and always the sheltering elbows of con- 
 venient Alps. The season is late they tell me on the boats 
 and at the hotel, yet the air is soft and balmy, great 
 bunches of westeria decorate garden walls, lilac, rhodo- 
 dendron, Guelder roses, chestnuts are in full bloom, and 
 at every village where the steamer touches, men and 
 women are sitting out of doors, the men swinging their 
 legs over quay walls, the women sewing or tending chil- 
 dren, all in " summery " dresses, and we have long since 
 discarded wraps and overcoats, and find the weather hot 
 enough despite the breeze of the steamer in rapid motion. 
 Bellaggio is probably the most delightful point of the lake. 
 It is fifteen miles from its northern extremity, and divides 
 the lake into two branches. 
 
 Here the travelers commenced their delightful expe- 
 riences of Bellaggio. The weather was like July in En- 
 gland, though the time was early May. The sky was 
 characteristically Italian. The windows of the hotel were 
 open. From the great drawing-room came the voice of a 
 prima donna of the lyric stage, whom some traveling 
 companions had persuaded to sing a few snatches from 
 " Othello " and " Lohengrin." The terraces of the hotel 
 were reflected in the lake in deep colors of green and 
 pink and red and yellow, repetitions of grass and flowers. 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 34 j 
 
 On the opposite shore the lake was bordered by a sweep 
 of architecture that melted away into hill and dalj ; and 
 far off on the right the snow mountains pretended they 
 were white clouds capping the rich blue of the sky. In 
 the little town there was a piazza out of which every now 
 and then ran narrow street ways up to the hills; liitle 
 streets literally of climbing steps. When you looked up 
 these narrow ways and saw women coming down with 
 children m their arms, or men lolling against curious door- 
 ways, you could only wish you were an artist with nothing 
 else in the world to do but to put these pictures into black 
 and white for magazines, or better still, into all their glory 
 of color for popular picture galleries. AVhen the luscious- 
 ness of full summer comes to Lake Como, and rests upon 
 the clustering hills of Bellaggio, and dreams in a sunny 
 glow down in the valleys, it is no stretch of fancy lo 
 imagine the perfumed light of some marble palace stealing 
 through the mist of alabaster lamps, and every air 
 
 ** Heavy with the sighs 
 Of orange groves and music from sweet lutes, 
 And murmurs of low fountains that gush forth 
 V the mist of roses." 
 
 " Of course I like the picture," said Dolly, '' but not for 
 always, Sam." * 
 
 " How do you mean ? " he asked, pressing her arm as 
 they lounged upon the terrace watching the light and 
 shade upon the distant hills. 
 
 " Beautiful for a visit," said Dolly ; " perfectly lovely, 
 but too good for the likes of I, as Walter's gardener says 
 down in the Midlands." 
 
 *' You really feel like that ? " said Sam. '' I'm so 
 awfully glad, because I was thinking somewhat in that 
 direction." 
 
 "Really?" she asked. 
 
344 J^y ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 " Indeed most truly," he said. '' I once knew an odd, 
 simple kind of rich man who owned a palace in Worcester- 
 shire, but lived in the lodge which stood by the road at 
 his gates. Of course, Dolly, I could live with you, my 
 dear, anywhere, palace or cottage, a garret in Bloomsbury 
 or a bijou villa standing in its own grounds at Kensing- 
 ton." 
 
 " Sam, you're so odd ! " 
 
 " When I said garret," said Sam, " of course I only 
 meant it as a figure of speech — a fa^ofi de parler, as Wal- 
 ter would say ; but without you I can imagine myself in 
 this Bellaggio palace longing for a cottage on the hills 
 opposite, or trying to negotiate an exchange of rooms 
 with one of those loafing peasants who live at the top of 
 the narrow avenues that give upon the Piazza, where those 
 wrinkled old women we saw this afternoon sell toy dis- 
 taffs and bric-a-bric." 
 
 " Our thoughts are certainly sympathetic, Sam," said 
 Dolly. " I shall often dream of this lovely place. If we 
 were to live here we ought to dress in costume, as they do 
 upon the stage. I could never endure to go about in such 
 scenery i.i ordinary clothes." 
 
 " That's because," said Sam, " you' never see this kind 
 of thing in pictures without Italian men and women in all 
 sorts of fancy dress. The best studies of lakes and moun- 
 tains and water-falls, with palaces and foreign costumes, 
 seem to me to be like chromos ; but wouldn't those wrin- 
 kled old women on the Piazza make fine subjects for 
 Professor Herkomer. Forsyth would have " 
 
 " Don't mention that name, Sam ; not yet, at all events. 
 It makes me feel as if I would like you to slap me in the 
 face." 
 
 " Dolly ! " exclaimed Sam, entirely forgetting what he 
 was going to say about Forsyth. 
 
 " It does," said Dolly. '* I don't wonder at those strong 
 men in the East End of London beating their wives." 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 345 
 
 " Dolly, Dolly," said Sam, with his arm round her waist 
 and " awfully happy/' as he told her afterwards, " you'll 
 make me feel miserable if you talk in that way. Besides, 
 fancy drifting from * glassy bowers, musical with birds, 
 palaces lifting to eternal summer, and orange groves heavy 
 with the sighs of music from sweet lutes,' into the bar- 
 barism of Whitechapel and women-beaters ! For good- 
 ness' sake, don't tell Jenny what we talked of, and don't 
 mention it to Walter. We shall be chaffed unmercifully. 
 Let us go back to poetry and sentiment." 
 
 " That's the bell for dinner," said Walter Milbanke, 
 coming upon them unobserved, and calling their attention 
 to the sounding gong beyond the terrace, " and here are 
 the English newspapers. Such a discovery, by Jove ! 
 How Comedy and Tragedy do go hand in hand ! They 
 have found General Petronovitch floating with the tide 
 from the Adriatic into the lagoons, stabbed to the heart 
 with a dagger on which is engraved, in Arabic, the word 
 * Vengeance.'" 
 
 " How dreadful ! " exclaimed Dolly. 
 
 " It is believed," continued Walter, " that he was killed 
 on the night of the illuminations and taken out to sea in 
 one of the many boats we saw on that exciting night. By 
 Jove, it's worthy of the ancient days of Venice." 
 
 " I'm glad we didn't stay," remarked Dolly. 
 
 " So am I," said Swynford, " and you'll excuse me, 
 V/alter, if I don't tear my hair over Petronovitch. I feel 
 so awfully happy." 
 
 " You look it, my boy, you look it. Come along, then, 
 we will dismiss the Venetian ghost and try the Bellaggio 
 cuisine. I think it's all right. I have interviewed the 
 chef^ and discovered a brand of champagne that I think 
 will even astonish you, you City sybarite ! " 
 
346 J^Y ORDER OF THE CZAK. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 THE COUNTESS TELLS HER STORY TO THE BROTHER- 
 HOOD AND PHILIP. 
 
 The foreign quarter of London with which the pubhc is 
 supposed to be most famiHar is in truth the least known 
 of the many mysterious districts of the great metropoHs. 
 
 Soho, in its own pecuHar way, possesses as many strange 
 ramifications as the black circle of Whitechapel, which 
 environs the tragic footsteps of the most terrible of 
 modern assassins. The police have the key to many of 
 the retreats in which political exiles and foreign conspira- 
 tors meet to hold friendly intercourse, and to hatch plots 
 of social regeneration and personal vengeance. But Scot- 
 land Yard has no special reason for interfering with the 
 meetings of these continental outcasts, so long as they do 
 not offend the English laws. 
 
 The liberty of the subject in these islands covers the 
 stranger as well as the native. To plot against the life of 
 potentate, statesman or private citizen, however, of this 
 or any other country would, of course, bring conspirators 
 under legal restraint ; but it is not the business of the 
 London police to act the part of spies upon political 
 exiles ; and who is to interpret the secret thoughts of the 
 solemn mysterious men and women who live quiet lives 
 in the regions of Soho, or report to the police the spoken 
 words of their private gatherings ? 
 
 England, America and Switzerland have for many years 
 been the plotting grounds o^ Nihilists and Social -Demo- 
 crats. 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 347 
 
 If it were possible to separate the patriot whose faith 
 and hopes are satisfied by a wholesome agitation, from the 
 patriot whose bitter political programme is one of dagger, 
 dynamite, and violent social upheaval, the Government 
 would no doubt be ready to draw a hard and fast line on 
 the side of pacific operations as against the violence of 
 revolution. But liberty is compelled to allow a large 
 margin for license, and it is better that an occasional cul- 
 prit, who might deserve death or life-long imprisonment, 
 should receive the protection of our shores rather than an 
 unchecked despotism should work its will upon the high- 
 minded agitator, whose only crime is a national enthu- 
 siasm for the regeneration of his country. 
 
 And so it comes about that London is the sanctuary of 
 the poHtical exile, not being actually a proved murderer 
 liable to extradition ; though it must be confessed that 
 Soho has sheltered many a conspirator who has been 
 associated with attacks on authority entitled to condem- 
 nation as outside the pale of mere political conspiracy. 
 
 Of such was more than one of the persons met together, 
 some two weeks after the Venetian yr/^^, at the Parisian 
 Cabaret, in a certain cul-de-sac known as Thomas' Alley, 
 within a stone's throw of Dean Street. 
 
 The Parisian Cabaret was a small unpretentious cafe, 
 at the extreme end of Thomas' Alley ; smuggled away in 
 one corner of it, as if it had been built into an uninten- 
 tional architectural vacancy — an after-thought in the 
 higgledy-piggledy plan of the original builders. The lower 
 part of the house was occupied with a large bow-window 
 and a quaint doorway, with an over-decoration in the 
 centre of which was a date indicating that the architecture 
 belonged to the picturesque period before the age of 
 stucco and iron. The upper stories were curiously 
 gabled ; and the quaint windows, glazed in much smaller 
 squares than is usual in these days, were prettily deco- 
 
348 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 rated with French blinds, neatly tied back with colored 
 ribbons. The place had a singularly clean look; and the 
 principal, and, indeed, only saloon for eating, drinking 
 and dominoes, had a white sanded floor and white painted 
 pannelling that were pleasantly characteristic. The 
 Parisian Cabaret was, indeed, much cleaner and far more 
 agreeable to look upon than most of its customers, one or 
 two of whom lived on the premises ; notably Ivan Kos- 
 tanzhoglo, who was a moving spirit of that brotherhood in 
 which Ann Klosstock had been enrolled as one of the two 
 women who had been considered worthy of its confidence. 
 
 Ivan Kostanzhoglo had been for some time stationed 
 in London as a controlling agent of certain movements 
 that had been made more or less in combination with 
 other sections of the Young Russian party ; but, under 
 orders, he was about to run the risk of reappearing in St. 
 Petersburg, where a rendezvous had been settled for him- 
 self, Paul Petroski, Anna Klosstock, Andrea Ferrari, and 
 other earnest confederates. 
 
 The startling incident of the far-reaching power of 
 Nihilistic vengeance at Venice, while it had stiffened the 
 surveillance of the Russian police at all the ports of entry 
 into Russia, and led to numerous arrests in the interior, 
 had exercised a tremendous revivifying influence upon 
 the widespread conspiracy which aimed at the overthrow 
 of the Imperial power. The guides and chiefs of the 
 party of action believed in following up the assassination of 
 Petronovitch with a striking dramatic demonstration at 
 headquarters. 
 
 It was in connection with this so-called patriotic action 
 of the young Russian party that the private doors of the 
 small underground apartment, which was rented by Ivan 
 Kostanzhoglo, were open to receive company some two 
 weeks after the Ghost of the Lagoons had startled Venice 
 from its customary repose. 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 349 
 
 Sitting at a round table, lighted with a lamp, were our 
 friends Ferrari, in his shirt sleeves, a loose light coat hang- 
 ing over his chair (it was a very hot night) ; Anna Kloss- 
 tock, in a simple sober black gown, without collar or 
 cuflfs, her hair gathered up beneath a black bonnet ; Paul 
 Petroski, of Moscow, who had kept his faith at the little 
 hotel on the quay at Venice, and also at the Fazio Palace ; 
 Ivan Kostanzhoglo, a swarthy, thick-set Muscovite, attired 
 in semi-fashionable French garments j and three others 
 whom it is unnecessary to name. 
 
 " I claim," said Anna Klosstock, " the right to acquaint 
 him with my history in your presence before the final oath 
 is administered to him." 
 
 " Madame knows best," said Ivan, who sat opposite to 
 her, quietly rolling cigarettes and smoking them, as if to 
 do so was the one chief duty in life. 
 
 ** We know madame's history," said Paul. *' Why re- 
 peat it in our presence ? " 
 
 *' Have our friends," asked Anna, turning to Ferrari and 
 then glancing at the three persons unnamed, *' been made 
 acquainted with our victory at Venice ? " 
 
 *' We only know," said one of them, *' that Petronovitch, 
 our bitterest foe, has fallen before the triumphant on- 
 slaught of the Brotherhood." 
 
 *' It will give encouragement to your hopes and strength 
 to your arm to hear that recital. I count it a part of my 
 duty to record unto you an account of my stewardship, 
 and that of our brethren, Ferrari and Petroski." 
 
 " We shall thank you for the revelation," said one. 
 
 *' It is no doubt our due to know it," said the other. 
 
 " And there is nothing so inspiritino- as a general's own 
 story of his victory," said the third. 
 
 " In a few minutes," said Anna Klosstock^ " there will 
 arrive, for admission to the Brotherhood, a young English 
 gentleman, who is devoted to me and my poor fortunes. He 
 
3SO BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 has accepted at the hands of Andrea Ferrari the oath of 
 secrecy; but not the oath of comradeship, which would 
 entitle him to our pass-words and to share the glories and 
 dangers of our cause. Brothers," she said, rising, *' this 
 young man has none of the motives that we have for the 
 labors and dangers we have undertaken. He was born in 
 Moscow, it is true, and in his early youth saw our brother 
 and sister exiles of the past go forth upon their fatal jour- 
 neying to Siberia. He has a sensitive and generous 
 nature ; the memory of those things has sunk deep into 
 his heart ; but he is young. His mother is a widow ; a 
 patriot, a devoted friend of all exiles. It is his misfortune 
 to have fallen in love with your humble companion." 
 
 The smile that for a moment illuminated the face of 
 Ivan Kostanzhoglo vanished at a glance from Ferrari ; 
 and Anna Klosstock continued to speak as if she were 
 alone, unconscious of the men who sat around her. 
 
 '' It is not necessary for me to say to what extent I 
 have returned his strange devotion." 
 
 '^ Not very strange," whispered one of the unnamed to 
 his neighbor, *' if a lovely face and figure have anything to 
 do with inspiring love." 
 
 '* But," she continued, " I am unwilling that for my sake 
 this young English gentleman shall further jeopardize his 
 position and his liberty. He professes to be under the 
 spell of our great cause, to desire no other life than one 
 that shall be devoted to it, in memory of his young life in 
 Moscow, and that he may be at least my comrade. He 
 only knows me as the Countess Stravensky. To him 
 Anna Klosstock is nothing. Her life, her love, her 
 miseries, her motives for revenge, her part in our great 
 victory of Venice are to him an entire blank. While re- 
 porting, as one of our secret brotherhood, to this meeting, 
 I desire to convey to him the particulars of my career, 
 that they may disenchant him and show him the abyss 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 35 1 
 
 upon which he stands. Should he then persist in throw- 
 ing in his lot with ours, I ask you to accept him." 
 
 As she sat down there was a murmur of dissent, question, 
 and admiration ; and the entire brotherhood for a few 
 moments seemed all to be talking at once, but not much 
 above a whisper. 
 
 Presently Ferrari was heard alone. 
 
 " To me, madam's wish," he said, " is law. Through- 
 c^ut all our operations, in every instance of peril, madame 
 has never made a mistake. I have to this young man 
 administered the first oath of secrecy. I believe him 
 worthy, and capable of being one of us. My vote is for 
 madame." 
 
 "And mine," said Ivan Kostanzhoglo \ " though it is a 
 dangerous element, the admission of a sentiment beyond 
 patriotism." 
 
 " But love," said Paul Petroski, '' is a power that has 
 helped us often, and in many straits." 
 
 " And we agree," said one of the three unnamed, '' that 
 it is to the frank, open statement of madame, that we 
 should not oppose her judgment in this, when it has always 
 been true." 
 
 " Go^ then," said Anna, to Ivan Kostanzhoglo. " In the 
 saloon you will find our visitor. He will be sitting at the 
 table in the right hand corner, by the pillar near the fire- 
 place. He is young, dark, handsome. You cannot mis- 
 take him. His dress, a shabby disguise ; yet you cannot 
 fail to see through it the features, the figure of a gentle- 
 man." 
 
 Ivan rolled another cigarette, and left the room through 
 its double doorways, which was guarded until his return 
 by Ferrari. 
 
 It was not altogether an uncomfortable apartment, 
 though it lack-ed ventilation, which was obtained chiefly 
 through an orifice in the chimney, where a strong gaslight 
 
352 
 
 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 was burning, and around which there was a continual halo 
 of smoke from the cigarettes which all, including Anna 
 herself, were more or less smoking. There were a few odd 
 engravings upon the dark wall-paper, one or two easy chairs, 
 a small book-case, and a map of Europe. 
 
 Anna leaned back thoughtfully in her chair, and breathed 
 a few whifs of smoke from an Egyptian cigarette, a bundle 
 of which lay before her. She pushed these aside and ceased 
 smoking as Ivan Kostanzhoglo entered with Philip Forsyth, 
 who was indeed disguised in shabby habiliments ; and in 
 face and feature for that matter, his cheeks pale and sunken, 
 his eyes surrounded with a black rim, his hair long and 
 straggly. He wore a pair of bluish French trousers and a 
 thin alpaca frock-coat, buttoned to the throat ; and in spite 
 of the hot weather and the closeness of the underground 
 atmosphere, he looked cold and chiily ; but when later on 
 he spoke, his voice was strong and his manner expressed 
 the physical strength, which, to look at him, you would not 
 have expected him to possess. 
 
 '* Brethren," said Anna Klosstock, rising, leaving her 
 seat, and taking Philip by the hand, " this is our English 
 friend, whose heart has bled for the miseries of our country, 
 who is anxious to join our brotherhood, and who has sworn 
 the first oaih of secrecy." 
 
 Philip looked round with a quiet inquiring gaze, and 
 then fixed his eyes upon Anna with an expression of aston- 
 ishment. 
 
 She was still beautiful ; but it was the beauty of the 
 street and the alley, the beauty of despair, the beauty that 
 shines sadly through the surroundings of rags and poverty. 
 
 Her figure seemed to have shrunk into her thin, shabby 
 black gown ; and the shadow that fell upon her, as she 
 stood by the radiance of the somewhat dim lamp upon the 
 table, gave a sombre look to her face which, was unusual 
 in Philip's experience of its varied characteristics. 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 353 
 
 It was borne in upon his mind that it lacked even the 
 tragic beauty that belonged to the despairing, defiant face 
 he had seen at the opera and conveyed to his canvas. 
 
 *' Welcome, brother," said the confederates, one after 
 the other, as they shook him by the hand. 
 
 " Be seated," said Ivan, " and we will pledge you to our 
 better acquaintance;" whereupon, turning to the little 
 bookcase and opening a cupboard beneath, Ivan brought 
 forward a couple of bottles of red wine, opened them, and 
 placed glasses upon the table. 
 
 Philfp drank in a mechanical half-decided way, conscious, 
 as if by instinct, that something was about to take place, 
 hardly in keeping with those heroic aspirations with which 
 he had credited the countess and her confederates. Not 
 that he had expected anything like a rose-leaf council, or 
 a carpet conspiracy ; but there was something in the change 
 from the bright, clean, cheerful saloon of the little Parisian 
 Cabaret, to the half-lighted, dull, prosaic, double-locked 
 apartment, and its heavy-browed, ill-dressed occupants that 
 chilled his spirits, and, for a moment, recalled to him his 
 unnatural exile from his mother and friends, who were at 
 that moment, so close to him and yet so far away. But 
 presently, when, unintentionally, Ferrari had moved the 
 lamp from before the face of Anna Klosstock, in such a 
 way that when she rose it illuminated her entire figure, the 
 old strange infatuation took possession of him, and he 
 listened as one in a drfeam. 
 
 *' Brethren," said Anna, rising and laying down the cigar- 
 ette which she had still held between her fingers, " I have 
 to report to you the result of the brotherhood's mission at 
 Venice ; and for the information of our visitor, who seeks 
 for weal or woe to be our comrade in the great cause to 
 which we are pledged, I beg you to permit that I shall 
 mention one of the motives which brought us originally 
 together, When I was a young girl I lived happy and con- 
 ' 23 
 
354 
 
 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 tented with my father, who was the principal Jew merchant 
 of Czarovna. There came to our village one Losinski, a 
 young learned scholar, who was appointed Rabbi. I fell 
 in love with him, he with me. We were betrothed. It was 
 the eve of the solemnization of our marriage. But at the 
 height of Czarovna's happiness there came a new governor, 
 General Petronovitch, and with him the wicked risings 
 against the Jews with sword and fire, which you all remem- 
 ber, less than ten years ago. This governor from St. Peters- 
 burg was a sensualist, a tyrant and an assassin. He found 
 villainous excuse to attack our house, to confiscate my 
 father's estate, to send him to that living death, Siberia; to 
 seize upon the young and learned rabbi, my lover, to con- 
 demn him to the knout. Maddened with my despair, I 
 sought the go\'-ernor at his palace, a suppliant for mercy. 
 By fair promises he induced me for a moment to trust him. 
 The crime he committed against me was one worse than 
 death." 
 
 Philip Forsyth felt his heart stand still. He clutched 
 his chair and pressed his feet upon the floor to prevent 
 himself from falling. One of the unnamed, noticing his 
 trouble, clutched him by the arm and pressed wine upon 
 him as Anna continued her narrative. 
 
 " The next day I witnessed the execution of Losinski, 
 and raising my voice in revolt and defiance, excited my 
 people of the ghetto into revolt. In the midst of their 
 attack upon the fiendish despot, I was dragged to the scaf- 
 fold myself, and there beaten out of all sensibility, to wake 
 up finally in the hospital, a miserable wreck, with sufficient 
 life still left to swear eternal vengeance upon General 
 Petronovitch, the only effort of existence left to me, the 
 one red spark of hope in my earthly dungeon. Surely it 
 was that one hope that gave me life. My wounds dressed 
 with salt — I spare you even a single word about the physi- 
 cal agony Isuffered — I began to recover, and it was thought; 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 355 
 
 in time I should be well enough to undergo a continuation 
 of my sentence which belonged to the gaol and the mine : 
 but by some unaccountable intervention I was released 
 and carried away to a foreign city. There was one great, 
 good friend of the Jew, who lived on the outskirts of Czar- 
 ovna, a Russian noble, who had, under pressure of ingrati- 
 tude and persecution from his master, joined a branch of 
 this Brotherhood of the Dawn." 
 
 For a mojigent the speaker paused in response to sup- 
 pressed but vigorous tokens of approval. 
 
 " The cause and the Brotherhood ! " almost shouted one 
 of the unnamed, raising his glass and clinking it with those 
 of his neighbors. 
 
 Philip watched the woman with an intent gaze of wonder. 
 
 " His name was Stravensky — the Count Stravensky. He 
 knew my father, he knew me ; saw me on that fatal day, 
 hurrying to the traitor's palace, endeavored to interpose 
 for me on the scaffold, was rebuffed, and ordered to his 
 home. His wealth and his early services to the Czar, the 
 greatness of his family name, and his burning desire for 
 vengeance, sent him to St. Petersburg, where he resolved to 
 fight his way diplomatically to place and position, his left 
 hand the Emperor's, his right hand for Russia. It was 
 through his intervention that I was removed, through his 
 intervention that I was reported dead. That was the only 
 report the Government would accept ; and so Anna Kloss- 
 tock died. In a few years there arose from that moral 
 death a new woman. Educated in Italy by scholars, 
 tended by devoted women ; with what object, with what 
 ambition, they knew not, nor did I for a time half suspect 
 how Fate was working for me. Day nor night did I ever 
 cease to pray for vengeance upon Petronovitch, whose 
 march of advancement I watched with a smile of hate, 
 noted his achievements in Central Asia, his proud conquests 
 in the field, his social and diplomatic victories. One day 
 
356 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 ther:: came for me a messenger from my kind patron. I 
 accompanied madame to Paris. There, after a few days of 
 formality and instructions, I stood by the bed of Count 
 Stravensky, was made his wife, and received from him the 
 legacy of his patriotic aspirations, and his last benediction 
 on my vow of vengeance. They only knew in St. Peters- 
 burg that the count had married a cultured, but humble 
 lady of Italy. The count had laid his plans carefully and 
 well. I was received by His Majesty the Czar, on my way 
 to deal with my estates in Vilnavitch, in the neighborhood 
 of Czarnova. I have held my own, I hope, as the Countess 
 Stravensky, never forgetting the wrongs of Anna Klosstock, 
 the persecution of the Jews, and my vows to this brother- 
 hood." 
 
 Again she paused, for the suppressed demonstrations of 
 her audience, who, much as they had seen of tragic trouble 
 and romance, were carried away not alone with Anna's 
 story, but with the majesty of the woman as she narrated it. 
 
 Philip still sat a dumb witness ; moved by deep emotions, 
 but standing apart, as it were, altogether from his com- 
 panions ; listening to Anna's story from a different stand- 
 point, influenced altogether from motives they could neither 
 follow nor understand. 
 
 ''To the patient and the true, the day they hope for 
 comes. It was at Venice, two weeks ago. You remember 
 some of you, our parting here, the naming of our rendez- 
 vous for Paul Petroski, for Ferrari, for myself. We met 
 again, I and the General Petronovitch ; once more, as the 
 Countess Stravensky, Anna Klosstock again had the honor 
 to find favor in his cruel eyes. Not as in the old days did 
 she struggle to be free from that cruel evil glance. She 
 invited it, sought it, courted it in the very presence of his 
 wife ; won him to her side, as Gretchen might have won 
 the Fiend, methinks, had she desired. I beckoned; he 
 came. I tolerated the pressure of his false lips upon this 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 357 
 
 hand — upon this hand ! " — she continued, raising her right 
 arm aloft and clutching her fingers as if she held a dagger 
 there — " that beckoned him to his death ! " 
 
 Amidst the general gasp of satisfaction which welcomed 
 Anna's tragic declaration, Philip covered his face with his 
 hand. 
 
 Anna looked at him for the first time during her con- 
 fession. 
 
 '' Does anyone doubt my right to the vengeance which 
 has thrust the dagger of the Brotherhood into this supreme 
 wretch ? Let him look upon me ! " 
 
 Philip, feeling that these words were addressed to him, 
 raised his head and again fixed his eyes upon the speaker. 
 
 " Let him know why I am a Nihilist of the Nihilists ! 
 Let him behold my title to vengeance ! " 
 
 As she spoke she tore open her dress, exhibiting a lovely 
 white arm and part of a beautiful bust, turning at the same 
 time with swift rapidity to exhibit her right shoulder and 
 her neck, no further than is considered correct by ladies 
 of fashion at balls and in the opera stalls, but sufficient to 
 thrill iron men who had themselves been witnesses of the 
 worst of Russian tortures. Red and blue, deep ridges and 
 welts crossed and recrossed each other, with intervals of 
 angry patches of red, and weird daubs of grey that blurred 
 and blotted out all remains and tokens of the beautiful 
 form with which nature had endowed one of its loveliest 
 creatures. 
 
 Philip looked, and fell forward upon the table with a cry 
 of horror, his head in his hands. The others remained 
 dead still for a few seconds, until Ivan Kostanzhoglo rose 
 quietly from his seat, replaced the torn garment over the 
 woman's shoulders, and kissed her reverentially upon the 
 forehead. 
 
 As Anna, herself much overcome, resumed her seat, 
 Andrea Ferrari advanced to Philip and laid his hand upon 
 his shoulder, at which the voung fellow looked round. 
 
3S8 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 '* Philip Forsyth," said Ferrari, it will be against the 
 wish of Anna Klosstock if you take the oath that will 
 make you, body and soul, one of us. What have you to 
 say ? " 
 
 " Nothing," he repHed. " Petronovitch is dead." 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 ONLY A WOMAN. 
 
 Philip Forsyth's mad infatuation would have confirmed 
 him, as Ferrari put it, body and soul a member of the Bro- 
 therhood, but for the i)ersistent opposition of the Countess 
 Stravensky. If Philip did not take the final oath he was, 
 nevertheless, accepted as an auxiliary of the association. 
 It was only for conscience sake that the countess resisted 
 this last act of the young artist's wild devotion. As she 
 put it to her comrades, he was sufiiciently their ally with- 
 out completing the treaty of secrecy and service. 
 
 Ferrari saw in this act of friendship, not to say love, the 
 first sign of weakness in Anna's character. It did not 
 occur to him that she had achieved the work of vengeance 
 which had stimulated and held together her alliance with 
 the Brotherhood. 
 
 Since the Ghost of the Lagoon had cast its lurid shadow 
 upon Russian despotism, the Countess Stravensky had 
 found little room in her heart for thoughts and feelings 
 which hitherto had been engrossed in the one idea of her 
 resurrection from death and torment in the Czarovna 
 hospital. 
 
 On the eve of that supreme act of vengeance in the Ve- 
 netian palace, Anna had been strangely moved, as we have 
 already seen, by the infatuation of Philip Forsyth ; not 
 so much on his account, as for the memories which it 
 revived of her happy girlhood. She had in lonely mo- 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 359 
 
 ments seen in this boyish love of the English artist some- 
 thing like a spiritual resuscitation ot" the youlhful Rabbi 
 Losinski. Her thoughts, which for years had only gone 
 back to the village of Czarovna with shuddering remem- 
 brances of its tragic overthrow, now found opportunities 
 for contemplating the light and sweetness which preceded 
 the advent of the Governor Petronovitch. She had per- 
 mitted her fancy to wander back to the great house at the 
 entrance of the ghetto, the Jewish celebrations of leaves 
 and flowers and harvest, of births and deaths, of religious 
 institutions and customs. She saw herself a child, sitting 
 at her mother's knee, and weeping at her mother's grave ; 
 noted how quickly in her infant mind this later memory 
 had mellowed with time into an engrossing affection for 
 her father, giving her almost womanly duties in her girl- 
 hood, and offering her sympathies towards every soul in 
 the ghetto. Even on the first day of her arrival to fulfil 
 w!iat to her was a sacred mission at Venice, she had sat 
 for hours silently in her red gondola dreaming of this happy 
 past in the one model Jewish village of that great Empire, 
 where the fires of revolt and persecution are for ever 
 smouldering with threatening and awful possibilities. 
 
 Ferrari, with the instinct of his race and the subtle un- 
 derstanding of the born conspirator, felt that Anna's 
 sympathy for Philip Forsyth boded no good to the cause. 
 He ventured to say so, both to Philip and to Anna her- 
 self. 
 
 Anna answered him with reference to the successfiil 
 incident of the movement with which she had been asso- 
 ciated ; dwelt upon the tremendous sensation that had been 
 created in the courts of Europe by the vengeance of Venice ; 
 and confessed that she could not find it in her heart to 
 make the one great sacrifice he now demanded of her, to 
 cast off Philip Forsyth. 
 
 " If I could cut him off from us," she said, '' with the 
 assurance that he would return to his home and duty, you 
 
36o ^V ORDEk OF THE CZAR. 
 
 might count upon me. But it his misfortune to have fallen 
 under some strange spell which we possess." 
 
 " Which you possess," said Ferrari. 
 
 '* It is all the same," she said. " My mission, he claims, 
 is his mission. I do not disguise from myself that he is 
 mad ; but I find in his companionship a strange plea- 
 sure." 
 
 " To confess which," said Ferrari, " is to confess that 
 you are no longer true to the Brotherhood." 
 
 " True ! ! " she exclaimed. " Do you then impeach me ? 
 In what respect am I untrue ? " 
 
 " You know," said Ferrari, '* that you are the first 
 woman I have trusted. You know that I have always been 
 opposed to confiding our section of the Brotherhood to 
 the constancy of a woman." 
 
 " In which you are," said the countess, " illogical. Was 
 it not Sophie Provskaya who gave the signal for Rysakovis 
 attack which carried off the emperor you most hated ? " 
 
 " But which," rejoined Ferrari, *• you most condemn." 
 
 '* I ? " she exclaimed. 
 
 " Have you not," he said, '* changed our latest pro- 
 gramme ? Have you not more than once declared ' we 
 are conspirators, but not assassins ? ' Have you not repu- 
 diated the term Nihilist, as it is applied to the party of 
 revolution and reform in Europe? " 
 
 "For a foolish word," she said, *' which does not in- 
 terpret us or our ambition. Do I repudiate the rising we 
 hope for? Do I not rejoice in the coming revolt of the 
 army ? Do I not glory in the agrarian fires of the 
 peasant ? Do I pause at an act of vengeance — a life for a 
 life ? Ask me to rival Sophie Provskaya, the risk of my 
 own life for the annihilation of a thousand Petronovitches, 
 one by one or in companies, and I am equal to the occasion ; 
 but cast me for a dynamite plot, involving the lives of 
 innocent people, and leading to no political result, but 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 361 
 
 assuredly to be followed by the execution of some of ou\ 
 own comrades, and I resist ! " 
 
 '•' But," said Ferrari, " given the great result, given the 
 signal for a general upheaval, for the rallying of the great 
 forces of revolution, the overthrow of a vile and bloody 
 tyranny, the establishment of a constitution, in short, foi 
 the fulfilment of the great and glorious programme of con- 
 stitutional liberty and national freedom — what then ? " 
 
 " Assure me of this, Ferrari, and I am with you. Assure 
 me that we may hope, in one great sacrifice, to break the 
 Russian chains, and at the same time to bring our brothers 
 and sisters to the promised land, flowing with milk and 
 honey, and I am with you. But you must convince me, 
 Ferrari ; otherwise, dear friend, I pause with the victory 
 of Venice : and could I forecast the end of all for me, I 
 would ask no other blessing than to die in my father's 
 arms away in his Siberian captivity.' Nay, do not s^art, 
 Ferrari ; I could say this to no other. You remember the 
 good, generous, kindly merchant ; the devoted father, the 
 staunch friend, the martyr ? " 
 
 ** Then you have heard," said Ferrari, calmly, '^ from 
 your father?" 
 
 " Not from him but of him," she said, a melancholy 
 smile stealing over her pale features. 
 
 "The despatch you received in Paris ?" said Ferrari. 
 
 " The same. It came through the Russian Anibarj- 
 sador." 
 
 " The one secret you have withheld from me," said Fer- 
 rari. 
 
 "Not withheld," said the countess "only postponed. 
 The influence of the Count Stravensky, my dear friend 
 and successor, was beneficial. It gave my father means ; 
 it secured communication with Moscow and St. Peters- 
 burg. Not at once ? Oh no ! It took three years before 
 relief of any kind came to him : four years, five years, six 
 
3d2 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 — and to-day, Ferrari, he is in his own peaceful rooms in 
 an agricultural village away beyond the mountains, tended 
 by a Siberian servant, and resigned, waiting for the end. 
 As you so long regarded him as dead to me, as I have so 
 long accepted that position, so he has regarded us, — dead 
 Ferrari, dead ! If I should see him again it would be a 
 foretaste of Paradise for him, for me perhaps." 
 
 "It is this romantic attachment of yours to Forsyth that 
 has unnerved you." 
 
 ** Then I thank him for it, on my knees, Ferrari. If he 
 has relighted that human lamp within my breast which 
 shows me the past in the present, what humanly I was, 
 then thank God, Ferrari, for his interposition." 
 
 " So it do not cast its betraying light upon the forth- 
 coming enterprise of the Brotherhood, I am willing to say 
 * Amen ' to that. I can find in my own heart, Anna 
 Klosstock, one drop of patience, when I remember that it 
 was I who brought down upon your father's house the 
 hand of persecution and murder ; that it was I who made 
 the trail of death, of the sword and fire which the Chris- 
 tian friends followed to the peaceful streets of the Czar- 
 ovna settlement." 
 
 *' You have had your revenge, Ferrari, and I mine." 
 
 ** No, no, my sister. I have no love-tokens of the past, 
 no young English woman to revive it if I had. My ven- 
 geance is never complete. No woman can come between 
 me and my oath, between me and my righteous ambition, 
 between me and my sacred duty, as Philip Forsyth, comes 
 between me and yours." 
 
 " I will not have it so, Ferrari ; and I claim your firm 
 and faithful allegiance to me, an allegiance not of oaths or 
 vows, but of mutual suffering and mutual wrong. If it has 
 pleased our Father Abraham that in this alliance of ours 
 the woman at last shall be weaker than the man, do not 
 blame me. Judge of me in the future as you have known 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR.. 363 
 
 me in the past, but do not ask for the impossible ; do not 
 ask for a destroying angel in a mere woman of the people ; 
 do not ask for the spiritual in the mortal ; do not ask for 
 a miracle — I am only a woman ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 DICK CHETWYND SAYS *' I WILL." 
 
 Ferrari's instinct was true. His judgment of Anna 
 Klosstock was confirmed by results. 
 
 It needed no traitor in the camp to frustrate the opera- 
 tions which took him and Anna and the rest by the various 
 routes to St. Petersburg. The mainspring of the move- 
 ment was altered. It was a question of nerve. Ferrari 
 had detected it. There had been no secrets between him 
 and Anna until her previous visit to London, when Philip 
 Forsyth crossed her path ; but he had been reassured, 
 touching any fears he might have experienced in Anna's 
 confession of deep interest in Philip, by her magnificent 
 campaign of strategy and vengeance on the Grand Canal. 
 Her outbreak of emotional memories, however, on the eve 
 of the Brotherhood's united action in St. Petersburg, had, 
 as we have seen in the previous chapter, shaken his faith 
 in the mental and physical strength of his amazonian asso- 
 ciate. But there was no course of check open to him in 
 regard to the Nihilistic advance. All he could do in the 
 way of strengthening the outposts, guards and sentinels 
 of the conspiracy, he carried out with firm exactitude. He 
 hoped to have kept the action clear from any association 
 with what Anna called her auxiliary aid, Philip Forsyth, 
 who traveled in her company to St. Petersburg, the Coun- 
 tess Stravensky's private secretary^ vice for the time being 
 Ferrari resigned. 
 
364 ^y ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 Her Italian comrade passed into Russia through a 
 different port, and in one of his most complete disguises. 
 The countess and her maid, accompanied by Philip and a 
 courier, went openly to St. Petersburg, where the young 
 artist was duly introduced into the highest society by his 
 illustrious patroness. Her visit was understood to be 
 simply one of rest and social duty, eii route for the scene 
 of her husband's estates, whither some business of charity 
 called her. Within a few days of her arrival she set out 
 for the interior, or was understood to have done so ; but 
 what happened was an enterprise of an entirely different 
 character 
 
 The countess made her adieux^ and disappeared from 
 society and the world of St. Petersburg, prior to taking 
 her place in the ranks of the Brotherhood, accompanied 
 by Philip in a disguise which she had prepared for him ; 
 but not before conjuring him to leave her and her as- 
 sociates to return home, while he could return safe to his 
 family and friends. But Philip had only one negative re- 
 ply to all her warning, and in some strange, unaccount- 
 able way, the woman who had been for years the com- 
 panion of strong men bound together by patriotic oaths 
 and emotions of revenge, found the infatuation which she 
 exercised upon the voluntary young exile from London 
 reflected back upon herself. She tried to think that fate 
 had given to her the comfort of his companionship as 
 some sort of recompense for past sufferings ; that fortune, 
 perhaps, had placed him by her side as a new human im- 
 pulse, an added arm in the great work which, Ferrari 
 assured her, ^ould be the signal for the coming millenium 
 of their race and the overthrow of the Colossus of Despot- 
 ism which threatened to bestride the civilized world. 
 
 Ferrari had of late over and over again expounded to 
 Anna Klosstock (in whom, after all, his hopes of success 
 in the latest enterprise of his career were centred) the tre- 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 365 
 
 mendous growth of the revolutionary strength in Russia 
 which had taken place under the new Czar Alexander 
 III. 
 
 While admitting the numerically small numbers of the 
 organizing and executive forces, Ferrari had shown Anna, 
 by documentary and other evidence, the vast extension of 
 the movement towards which they occupied the van : and 
 while receiving in secret conclave the reports of the 
 advance which was being made right through the military 
 services, they both chiefly rejoiced in the prospects of 
 the propaganda among the peasants, who had in many 
 districts and under more or less authoritative encourage- 
 ment, worked their will upon the Jews, but liad of late 
 entered into secret agrarian alliances with their Semitic 
 fellow-citizens against the nobles and landed proprietors. 
 
 Jews throughout the provinces most in sympathy with 
 the holy cause had been welcomed into secret societies \ 
 and it was set forth in a recent important work by 
 Tikhomirov that one of the great significant facts of the 
 moment was a definite transition of anti-Semitic into agra- 
 rian troubles. 
 
 The people, finding it difficult to form peasant parties, 
 had organized secret societies, one of which, having wide 
 and powerful ramifications, had contributed a new brother 
 to the Ferrari organization. 
 
 Everything looked well and promising for the first signal 
 of revolt, which, being made in St. Petersburg, was to act 
 as a beacon-fire over a wide and extensive district of out- 
 pasts, military, civil, and agrarian, in which many classes, 
 official and otherwise, were engaged. 
 
 The train was laid. It was the patriotic duty of Ferrari 
 and his confederates to light the match which should bring 
 about that great popular rising which is the hope and 
 purpose of the great popular movement throughout the 
 Empire. 
 
366 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 On the day which wgs to bring about such great results 
 St. Petersburg was unusually gay*, and to a stranger it 
 might even have seemed as if, for the time being, both 
 military and police had made some special relaxation in 
 their discipline and duties of surveillance. 
 
 But everything in St. Petersburg is more or less myste- 
 rious. No man can account for the under-current, which 
 ebbs and flows and rushes hither and thither beneath the 
 surface of its ordinary life. It is a calm sea, that flows 
 insidiously above jutting rocks, moving sands, and danger- 
 ous eddies. 
 
 The police of Russia are as secret as the Revolutionists. 
 Both are as active ; and on this momentous occasion, the 
 authorities, instead of having relaxed their watchful guar- 
 dianship over the Imperial power, were especially lynx- 
 eyed, well informed, and alert, as was only too completely 
 manifested to the little band of conspirators under the 
 leadership of Andrea Ferrari. 
 
 It is a rare occurrence in open daylight for the police 
 to disturb the citizens by an important arrest. These 
 operations are generally reserved for the stillness and 
 repose of the night ; but on this busy sunny day a little 
 troop of police and military were taking very devious routes 
 outside the leading thoroughfares, quietly surrounded a 
 house near the Tavreda Gardens, which had been for four 
 and twenty hours under the eye of an astute detective force. 
 The result was one of much greater importance to St. 
 Petersburg and the Czar than his officers understood. It 
 prevented the ignition of that train of fire which had been 
 laid with so much skill and patience ; and it added to 
 Russia's political prisoners, among others in whom the 
 readers of this history are interested, Anna Klosstock, 
 Andrea Ferrari, Philip Forsyth, Ivan Kostanzhoglo, and 
 Paul Petroski. Fortunately, so far as their immediate ex- 
 istence was concerned, the plot, as it presented itself to 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 367 
 
 the police, was of a minor character ; presenting under 
 their investigation none of those grave and serious features 
 which really belonged to it, and like many another revolu- 
 tionary enterprise in, Russia, it was nipped in the bud 
 without exciting any particular attention. It formed, how- 
 ever, during several weeks an interesting political subject 
 in the hands of an English correspondent attached to a 
 great London journal, and it was through this medium 
 that Lady Forsyth and Dick Chetvvynd became acquainted 
 with the unhappy position of the Countess Stravensky's 
 companion. 
 
 The newspaper correspondent informed the English 
 public that among the prisoners recently tried and con- 
 demned to a period of exile in Siberia, was a young 
 Englishman who, having first given an assumed name to 
 his captors, had confessed that he was Philip Forsyth, 
 an artist, of London, a student at the Royal Academy, the 
 son of an eminent engineer, who had lived and died in 
 Russia, leaving behind a son, Philip, and his mother, Lady 
 Forsyth, a widow, of London. The young fellow, said the 
 correspondent, had no doubt given these particulars in the 
 hope of some intervention on the part of his family. The 
 plot with which he was associated was not regarded as 
 of any very great importance by the authorities, except 
 that it compelled them to make an example of the persons 
 concerned, one of whom, an Italian Jew, named Ferrari, 
 having strangled his sister, had succeeded in committing 
 suicide in prison ; another, Ivan Kostanzhoglo, was sen- 
 tenced to lifelong imprisonment ; a third, Paul Petroski, to 
 a short period of detention ; and a fourth, a remarka- 
 bly handsome woman, who having, as in the case of the 
 English artist, given at the outset a false name, had con- 
 fessed under pressure that she was Anna Klosstock, and 
 that the object of her association with Ferrari and the rest 
 of the confederacy lay chiefly in the hope that she might 
 
^68 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 be sent to Siberia to join her father. It appeared that 
 during the risings against the Jews some ten years pre- 
 viously, this woman's father had been sentenced to exile, 
 which had been considerably modified under official influ- 
 ence, that she had lived a wandering life, thinking he was 
 dead ; but having been in the service of the Countess 
 Stravensky two years previously in Paris, she had dis- 
 covered that her mistress had already interested herself on 
 behalf of her father, and had procured him some concessions 
 in regard to punishment. 
 
 The story was, the correspondent stated, a curious 
 romance in its way, seeing that the countess had exercised 
 her influence in favor of the girl's father before Anna 
 Klosstock herself came into her service. Amongst the 
 few papers discovered on the occasion of their arrest, was 
 a letter from the Countess Stravensky which had been 
 found in the prisoner's possession, bearing out in various 
 details the story of the woman's life. The police had 
 made a special effort to receive endorsement of this from 
 the countess herself, but had been unable to find her. She 
 had passed through St. Petersburg only a few days pre- 
 viously, to the neighborhood of Czarovna, in the pro- 
 vince of Vilnavitch, where her husband, the count, had 
 formerly resided, and no doubt in due course the police 
 would hear from her laydship. 
 
 In the meantime, however, the judge took a lenient view 
 of Anna Klosstock's case, and he more or less benevolently 
 sentenced to Siberia ; and it is understood that by the 
 order of the Czar, who has taken some personal interest 
 in these arrests, she will be permitted to join her exiled 
 father. 
 
 The news of Philip's arrest and conviction created a 
 profound sensation in London. Not a moment was lost 
 in bringing to bear such influence as Lady Forsyth and 
 her friends possessed upon the Foreign Office to put the 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 369 
 
 English Minister in communication with the Government 
 in St. Petersburg, but the most practical and important 
 action was discussed and decided upon in family council 
 at Dorset-square. 
 
 " Yes, certainly, Dick," said Mrs. Chetwynd, " you are 
 right; it is the only thing to be done." 
 
 " I know the country," said Dick, '' but it is a serious 
 undertaking." 
 
 " All great enterprises are serious," said his wife. 
 
 "Every possible influence that is to be got, of course, I 
 can procure," said Dick, thrusting his hands deep into his 
 pockets and pacing the little breakfast-room, where the 
 principal morning papers had been flung down after 
 perusal ; the leading journal, however, still in Mrs. Chet- 
 wynd's hands. 
 
 " It will be a great sacrifice to make for both of us, Dick. 
 If you had not traveled on far more dangerous missions I 
 believe I would not let you think of it." 
 
 " It will be a costly service, too," said Dick, " not only 
 as regards time but money. I think I know the Foreign 
 Secretary in St. Petersburg, and my decoration at the hands 
 of the late Emperor should serve me. It is a good thing 
 for Philip that I happen to be commissioned to the Russian 
 instead of the Turkish head-quarters." 
 
 Dick walked about and soliloquized, half responding to 
 his wife's remarks^ partly to his own reflections. 
 
 " Besides, you are lucky, Dick. I do not think in all 
 your career you have ever made a serious mistake — not 
 even when you married me." 
 
 ^* My dear," said Dick, taking her genial face between 
 his hands and kissing her heartily, " the only danger of my 
 life was the possibility of ever missing the good chance 
 that brought us together; and I have never made a 
 mistake except when I have not acted upon your advice." 
 
 *' Dick, my dear," said Mrs. Chetwynd, firmly, " you 
 24 
 
370 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 must go to Russia, and bring that foolish boy home to his 
 mother.'* 
 
 " I will,» said Dick. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIIL 
 
 ON THE ROAD TO SIBERIA. 
 
 Fortunately for Dick Chetwynd's mission he was no 
 stranger to St Petersburg, and he had had some experience 
 of official life in Russia, during both peace and war. He 
 knew the value of English introductions, and how most 
 effectively to use Russian gold- 
 No twithstanding the supposed continual strain of the 
 diplomatic relationships of the two countries, and the tra- 
 ditional hostility of international interests, Dick Chetwynd 
 hid full confidence in the courteous and friendly reception 
 which he would receive at headquarters. 
 
 From the Czar down to the humblest Russian official, an 
 Englishman properly accredited and backed by traveled 
 experience and worldly knowledge, may rely upon court- 
 eous treatment. 
 
 No official is more polite thah the Russian under the 
 influence of a stranger's authoritative indorsement. 
 
 It is true that Chetwynd met with minor obstructions 
 and delays which easily gave way to major tips and con- 
 siderations; but in presence of the great masters of 
 authority, with his letters from the English Prime Minister, 
 the Russian Embassy in London, and other documentary 
 powers, he found his path both smooth and pleasanL In- 
 deed it was with some difficulty that he succeeded in pro- 
 ceeding on his journey with anything like a gracious refusal 
 of the many social invitations he received as tributes to 
 his own personal charm of manner as well as to his re- 
 markable official introductions. Moreover, the fact that 
 
BY OKVEK OF THE CZAR, 371 
 
 as a war correspondent he had chronicled In one of the 
 leading English newspapers the triumphs of the Russian 
 arms on a great campaign, and had been honored with the 
 personal recognition of His late Majesty after a certain 
 famous battle, made him a persona grata in the brilliant 
 Russian capital. 
 
 Having discovered that Philip Forsyth was one of the 
 prisoners en route for Siberia, under the command of Cap- 
 tain Karakazov, and in all probability only despatched 
 some few weeks previously from Moscow, he made rapid 
 dispositions for prosecuting his journey. In the meantime 
 he wrote encouraging letters full of good assurance of his 
 own safety to his wife and of hopeful prospects to Philip's 
 mother. 
 
 What surprised Chetwynd more than anything during 
 his investigations at St. Petersburg, was the utter and 
 complete disappearance of the Countess Stravensky. 
 
 The Assistant Minister of Foreign Affairs, a singularly 
 well-informed and courteous gentleman, who from being 
 reticent at the beginning of their interview became almost 
 loquacious at its close, assured him that there was no doubt 
 about the complicity of the Countess Stravensky in the 
 recent plot. The police were engaged in unraveling her 
 career. It was believed that ever since her remarkable 
 marriage with the Count Stravensky, one of the Govern- 
 ment's most devoted servants, she had been mixed up in 
 the Russian propaganda. If this were so, the countess 
 had conducted her affairs with great skill and daring. She 
 had received complimentary recognition from the Russian 
 Court, and indeed had been almost, in certain social di- 
 rections^ an accredited agent, and was certainly regarded 
 as a friend to the reigning family. She had been received 
 at the Russian Court, and was a distinguished personage 
 in the highest Russian circles ; but within the last few 
 months the police had discovered what they considered to 
 
372 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 be a clue to her association with some of the worst enemies 
 of Russia, and indeed, they believed she was an accom- 
 plice in the murder of General Petronovitch at Venice. 
 
 At present these charges were indefinite, and might 
 possibly be difficult of proof ; but they were considered to 
 be strongly exemplified by the strange disappearance of 
 the countess from Russia. She had arrived in St. Peters- 
 burg some few days before the failure of the latest 
 dynamite plot, had observed the usual polite ceremonies of 
 the Court, had been seen at the opera, and was a guest at 
 a semi-official reception on the night before the nefarious 
 scheme of the Propagandists was to have been consum- 
 mated. From that moment there was no trace o,f her. 
 She had disappeared as completely as if she had never 
 existed. And the complete system of espionage that 
 belonged to the police had failed to come upon the slight- 
 est clue ; the telegraph had flashed inquiries and descrip- 
 tions in every direction throughout Europe, but without 
 result. They had hoped that the young Englishman, the 
 prisoner Forsyth, would have been able to throw some light 
 upon her proceedings and habits. Had he been a Rus- 
 sian subject it was possible that more than the ordinary 
 pressure would have been exercised to obtain confessions 
 from him ; but he probably spoke the truth when he said 
 that he did not know what had become of her, and he did 
 not disguise for a moment that he had traveled with her 
 from Venice to Paris, from Paris to New York, from New 
 York to Havre, thence to St. Petersburg. Indeed, there 
 would have been no object in his denying this, because 
 one of the so-called Brotherhood of the Dawn had con- 
 fessed it. 
 
 "■ Under pressure ? " asked Chetwynd, accepting the 
 cigarette which the Assistant Minister had politely offered 
 him. 
 
 " Probably," said the official. 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 373 
 
 " You have severe measures in this direction, I know," 
 said Chetwynd, " and I am deeply grateful for the con- 
 sideration which has been shown to my friend." 
 
 " You have reason to be so, I think, from all I under- 
 stand," said the official. " We are talking in confidence, 
 but it may help you to a better understanding of my 
 Imperial Master when I tell you that it was by order of the 
 Czar that Forsyth's sentence was commuted to imprison- 
 ment ; by order of the Czar, not in response to any 
 diplomatic intervention, but out of consideration for his 
 youth and his evident simplicity, and the fact that he was 
 a young English gentleman." 
 
 Chetwynd was duly impressed with the consideration 
 shown to him and his country, and on taking leave of the 
 Assistant Minister expressed in a general way regret that 
 England and Russia did not better understand each other 
 than appeared to be the case in the opinion of leading 
 Russians and some prominent Englishmen, and hoped the 
 time might come when the boundary line of their mutual 
 ambitions in Central Asia might be drawn with a severe 
 and firm regard for the world's peace and happiness. 
 Arrived at Moscow, he succeeded in finding his way to 
 the penal establishment at Sparrow Hills, where the young 
 English artist had rested with his fellow-prisoners eft route 
 for Siberia. 
 
 It was at this very spot where Philip, as a boy, had seen 
 the band of exiles mustered and marched out, as mentioned 
 by him to Chetwynd during his artistic inspirations at 
 Primrose Hill in the English metropolis. The place was 
 probably very much in the same condition when Chetwynd 
 became acquainted with it, as it was in the days of Philii:>'s 
 father, and as it had been when Mr. Bremner, quoted by 
 the author of " Stories from Russia," visited it thirty 
 years previously. 
 
 Chetwynd found no difficulty in visiting the prison and 
 witnessing an exodus. 
 
374 J^y ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 On the next day the governor, a courteous official whose 
 heart had not been hardened under his melancholy ex- 
 periences, accompanied him in the early autumn morning 
 not to the great fortress, but to a series of strong barrack- 
 like buildings, surrounded by a high wall, not of a very 
 powerful defensive character, but carefully guarded by 
 numerous sentinels. 
 
 The governor conversed pleasantly in French, and rolled 
 perpetual cigarettes ; advising Dick also to smoke during 
 their round of the penal institution. 
 
 The broad courtyard was already occupied by a large 
 company of prisoners, each fettered by the ankles, not with 
 heavy chains, but sufficiently galling, alas, for a general 
 march of little short of six months to the dreary wilds of 
 Eastern or Western Siberia. They included men and 
 women, the former in the usual convict's dress, a long 
 loose coat of coarse grey cloth, the latter in thick woollen 
 dresses with a kind of cape or shawl fastened about their 
 shoulders and another over their heads, worn very much in 
 the manner of a Lancashire operative. A portion of their 
 route, the governor informed Dick, would be made by river, 
 in enormous barges upon which were constructed prison 
 cages, where the men and women were separated, but by road 
 they travel in bands together. It was true, he said, that some 
 died by the way, and that political prisoners who could 
 aff"ord it were permitted to ride and also to take with them 
 baggage and their families, many of whom lived after some 
 years of severe discipline in a comparatively free and com- 
 fortable manner. He admitted that there were exceptions, 
 but hoped that the exile in whom Chetwynd was taking so 
 deep an interest might be one of those favored persons. 
 It was not often, he said, that an Englishman was included 
 among the exiles to Siberia, but during the last few years 
 many foreigners had interested themselves unduly in Rus- 
 sian politics. Fanatics from Italy, France and Germany, 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 375 
 
 calling themselves, he believed, Socialists and Regenerators 
 of the World, and once in a way the police had, he under- 
 stood, to pay their polite attentions to some English ally of 
 the revolutionists. He could not understand why England, 
 having so many political and social difficulties of her own 
 to attend to, should take so much interest at it appeared 
 she did in the internal affairs of Russia. Possibly, as Mr. 
 Chetwynd confessed, this young English gentleman, Mr. 
 Philip Forsyth, had been led away by the fascinations of 
 the Countess Stravensky, whose disaffection to the Govern- 
 ment had been as great a surprise as was her sudden and 
 extraordinary disappearance. 
 
 Many of the band starting upon their awful journey had 
 favors and privileges to ask, which in some cases were 
 granted and in others refused, but on the whole the men 
 and women seemed to be treated, at least at this stage of 
 their trials, with a certain amount of sympathy, particularly 
 on the part of the governor whenever he was addressed 
 or his intervention was invited by subordinate officers. 
 
 At the same time when the gates were thrown open, 
 the strong military guard on foot made a formidable show, 
 each man loading his weapon in presence of the prisoners. 
 
 Part of the escort was mounted, carrying long spears ; 
 they were probably Cossacks^ and in the experience of 
 Mr. Bremner, previously quoted, the commanders of this 
 light cavalry were in the habit of using the poor creatures 
 with unchecked cruelty", riding furiously about among 
 them, striking them right and left with their strong whips, 
 without any reason for their activity, just as brutal drovers 
 might among their cattle. 
 
 On this occasion the men were banded together apart 
 from the women, but Chetwynd noticed a far better dis- 
 position than Mr. Bremner had noted in the treatment of 
 the exiles who marched out under his observation ; but 
 he restrained his tears with some difficulty, when the gates 
 
376 ^y ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 were closed and he heard the melancholy tramp and clank 
 of irons in which his imagination easily depicted his un- 
 happy young friend. 
 
 In the interior of the prison he found most of the men 
 and women unfettered, but the governor informed him 
 that on the next day he might witness, if he remained, the 
 riveting of their chains. At the same time it occurred to 
 the officer to suggest that these poor creatures were more 
 to blame than the Government. So"hie of them were 
 criminals of a bad type ; others were political criminals, 
 little better, except that in most cases they had been well 
 nurtured, and were educated men and women who had 
 been too wise to accept and obey the laws under which 
 they lived. He refused to accept for a moment Chet- 
 wynd's suggestion that many political prisoners in Russia 
 were probably misunderstood, some unduly and unfairly 
 punished on unfounded and occasionally manufactured evi- 
 dence. Justice might make mistakes, the governor said, 
 and did no doubt in all countries, but he begged Mr. 
 Chetwynd not to forget that the late Emperor had been 
 murdered in the streets, and that plots of the most diabo- 
 lical character had been successful, while others which 
 threatened the lives of innocent people had been prevent- 
 ed by the activity of the Government. 
 
 Chetwynd had to confess to his distinguished escort 
 that these questions seemed to be more openly discussed 
 in Russia than he had believed possible ; but at the same 
 time he was fain to regard the frankness of the officials 
 whom he had met as a compliment to his special creden- 
 tials and a desire to stand well with the English authorities. 
 
 Asked about the prisoner Forsyth, the governor had no 
 particulars to give except to indicate the band of which 
 he was a member and the name of the commander. He 
 did not remember having seen or noticed Forsyth. There 
 had of late been a great many prisoners passing through 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 377 
 
 Moscow on their way to Siberia, for there had recently 
 been very serious risings and plots against the Govern- 
 ment ; but he thought it possible that if Chetwynd traveled 
 with reasonable speed he might overtake Captain Kara- 
 kazov and his command on this side of the Siberian 
 frontier ; certainly within a few days of its crossing the 
 line. As a rule the journey was commenced earlier in the 
 year, the prisoners passing through pleasant summer and 
 autumn weather. It might be that the difficulties of the 
 latest bands of travelers would be somewhat enhanced by 
 winter snows ; there were signs of severe weather coming 
 upon them earlier than usual, but every precaution was 
 taken for protecting the exiles, and if they had hardships 
 to endure, the military escort, men and officers, were not 
 exempt from atmospheric influences. This hint sufficed 
 for Dick Chetwynd to decline the governor's invitation of 
 hospitality on the next day. 
 
 From Moscow Chetwynd traveled night and day to 
 Nijni Novgorod, where he halted in the midst of the latter 
 days of the great autumn fair, which under other circum- 
 stances would have had for him a tremendous attraction. 
 There is nothing like Nijni Novgorod in the world. In a 
 small way one might be reminded of it by some of the 
 seaside resorts on the other side of the Atlantic, where 
 enormous hotels, giant caravanserais, are occupied during 
 the season by thousands of guests, the seashore crowded 
 with summer attractions and thronged with people ; where, 
 during the winter, not a soul is to be seen, except perhaps 
 one or two guardians of the vast house of entertainment, 
 and a few wooden huts about it, all silent as the dead. 
 
 This is Nijni Novgorod during half the year. It is a 
 vast city of shops, stores, houses, hotels, churches, wide 
 broad streets, fine showy buildings, boulevards, theatres, 
 market places, bazaars ; but in the early summer months 
 entirely deserted; shops barred and bolted, markets 
 
37^ f^y ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 closed, churches locked iij), the whole a city of the dead, 
 to be awakened as it was when Chetwynd passed through 
 its busy thoroughfares, during the month of August, by 
 five hundred thousand traders from all parts of Russia, 
 brouglit thither by rail from St. Petersburg and the Bal- 
 kans, by canal from the White Sea, by the Oker and on the 
 broad bosom of the mighty Volga. 
 
 C'letwynd was compelled to remain here a day and 
 night, part of which time he occupied in writing letters 
 home, in completing his outfit, and arranging his method 
 of travel. 
 
 In the evening, with thoughts far away, he smoked a 
 cigarette, and listened to the military bands playing oper- 
 atic airs opposite the governor's house, and watching the 
 busy crowd passing to and fro over the pontoon bridge 
 which connects the lower and upper towns. 
 
 The music, which appeared to give great pleasure to 
 the crowd and to the officers lounging about the gover- 
 nor's house, smoking cigarettes and receiving with much 
 condescension the evident admiration of the crowd, was 
 not a little painful to Dick. It was a selection from '' Car- 
 men," the opera at which Philip Forsyth had first seen 
 the face which had brouorht him and his friends so riiuch 
 misery and distress. 
 
 During the next few days our English traveler in search 
 of his friend was steaming down the Volga and up the 
 Kama in one of the vessels that run between the Great 
 Fair city and Persia, where Mr. George Kennan, the 
 American author, had his first skirmish with the Russian 
 police, and whose descriptions of Russian peasant life will 
 no doubt prove to be one of the most interesting and 
 important revelations in the modern literature of Russian 
 travel and political debate'. 
 
 Dick Chetwynd found his credentials and authoritative 
 orders from St. Petersburg and Moscow a talisman that 
 
^r ORDER OF THE CZAR. 379 
 
 opened all gates and ways before him, and the morning 
 after his arrival in the city on the Kama he was once more 
 en route, this time by the Ural Mountains railroad, for 
 Ekaterinburg. 
 
 Two days of travel brought him to the station near the 
 summit of the mountains. The weather was cold ; there 
 had been heavy frosts in the hills, the faded foliage was 
 beginning to shrivel and fall. The scenery was wild and 
 impressive, suggesting Switzerland and the Alleghany 
 Mountains, the country dotted here and there with mining 
 camps and villages that might have belonged to the early 
 settlements of Canada and the United States. The rail- 
 way was a remarkable work of engineering, and, while 
 Dick was loath to leave it at Ekaterinburg for the wilder 
 and more difficult country beyond, he was nevertheless 
 satisfied to have reached the point where his journey must 
 be continued by road. 
 
 At this last railway station on the Ural slope he had 
 information of a band of exiles who had passed through 
 the city of Ekaterinburg at about the time mentioned by 
 the prison governor at Moscow. 
 
 Dick was now some hundred and fifty miles from the 
 Siberian frontier, and on a certain calculation with a local 
 official he was informed that it might be quite possible to 
 overtake Captain Karakazov before he reached the 
 boundary. 
 
 While the distance from Ekaterinburg had to be covered 
 by a public vehicle, well horsed, but traveling over diffi- 
 cult roads, its progress was very rapid compared with the 
 slow march of the fettered prisoners. The journey was 
 relieved at various posts on the way, where horses were 
 changed, the rate of traveling being at about eight miles 
 an hour ; the inn accommodation at night rough as it 
 could be, but not inhospitable, and Dick found com- 
 panions who were civil, but with whom he could hold little 
 
-3£o BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 conversation in the only language they knew. They re- 
 lieved the way with much drinking of tea and smoking of 
 strong tobacco, and Dick continually bent his eyes for- 
 ward and used his field-glasses frequently in the hope of 
 catcliing a glimpse of the miserable travelers ahead. On 
 the second day, and towards evening, after leaving Eka- 
 terinburg, the driver, with a cry of *' Vot granista ! " pulled 
 up his horses. 
 
 The weather had turned bitterly cold, and the snow was 
 falling. 
 
 Dick, muffled up in his fur cloak, had fallen asleep for 
 the first time during many hours, in the furthermost cor- 
 ner of the great boat-shaped, four-wheeled carriage, which 
 for some time had been carefully hooded and covered by 
 way of protection from the weather. 
 
 Starting up, he found his fellow-passengers alighting 
 and repeating the two words of the driver, " Vot granista." 
 (Here's the boundary.) 
 
 They were in a forest clearing. 
 
 Before them, by the roadside, stood a tall pillar, and 
 round about it a strange weird group of men and women, 
 soldiers on foot and mounted Cossacks, their spears bright 
 amidst light feathery flakes of falling snow, which was 
 transforming the surrounding country into a white world. 
 
 They had arrived at the boundary post of Siberia, a 
 square pillar, ten or twelve feet in height, of stuccoed or 
 plastered brick, bearing on one side the coat of arms of 
 the European province of Perm, and on the other the 
 Asiatic province of Tobolsk. *' No other spot between St. 
 Petersburg and the Pacific," says Mr. George Kennan, 
 whose current work I have already mentioned, '' is more 
 full of painful suggestions, and none has for the traveler a 
 more melancholy interest than the little opening in the 
 forest where stands this grief-consecrated pillar. Here 
 hundreds of thousands of exiled human beings — ^raen, 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 381 
 
 women and children ; princes, nobles, and peasants — have 
 bidden good-bye for ever to friends, country and home. 
 No other boundary post in the world has witnessed so 
 much human suffering or been passed by such a multitude 
 of heart-broken people. More than one hundred and 
 seventy thousand exiles have traveled this road since 
 1878, and more than half a million since the beginning 
 of the present century. As the boundary post is situated 
 about half-way between the last European and the first 
 Siberian etape, it has always been customary to allow exile 
 parties to stop here for rest and for a last good-bye to home 
 and country. The Russian peasant, even when a criminal, is 
 deeply attached to his native land; and heart-rending scenes 
 have been witnessed around the boundary pillar when such 
 a party, overtaken perhaps by frost and snow in the early 
 autumn, stopped here for a last farewell. Some gave way 
 to unrestrained grief; some comforted the weeping ; some 
 knelt and pressed their faces to the loved soil of their 
 native country, and collected a little earth to take with 
 th?m into exile; and a few pressed their lips to the 
 European side of the cold brick pillar, as if kissing good- 
 bye for ever to all that it sympolized. At last the stern 
 order * Stroisa ! ' (form ranks) from the under officer of 
 the convoy put an end to the rest and the leave-taking, 
 and at the word " March ! " the grey-coated troop of exiles 
 and convicts crossed themselves hastily all together, and, 
 with a confused jingling of chains and leg-fetters, moved 
 slowly away, past the boundary post, into Siberia." 
 
 As Dick Chetwynd tumbled out of the tarantas, and 
 pressed forward towards the exiles, the stern order " Form 
 ranks ! " and the following word " March ! " were given, 
 and the prisoners prepared to resume their weary and heart- 
 breaking journey. 
 
 " Captain Karakazov ? " exclaimed Dick Chetwynd at a 
 venture, hardly daring to think that he had overtaken tha 
 
3S2 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR, 
 
 band he was following, but with a desperate hope that it 
 might be so. 
 
 Whether he had not spoken loud enough to command 
 attention amidst the clanking of chains and the miscella- 
 neous orders and exclamations, his excited interrogatory- 
 passed unheeded. 
 
 " Is this Captain Karakazov's command ? " he shouted 
 in French. 
 
 No reply ; but there was a movement in the ranks which 
 attracted his attention. 
 
 " Captain Karakazov ! " he Shouted again at the top of 
 his voice, his fellow-passengers now regarding him with 
 both surprise and alarm. An officer who had been busy 
 receiving the reports of some subordinate turned som'^what 
 angrily towards him. 
 
 " I am Captain Karakazov," he said. ** What is your 
 business, sir, with me ? " 
 
 "Thank God ! " exclaimed Dick. *' You have a prisoner, 
 Philip Forsyth," at which moment one of the exiles fell 
 forward from a group and was caught with difficulty, but 
 with great solicitude, in the arms of a woman, who, turning 
 towards Chetwynd and the officer, disclosed to the English 
 traveler the weird face of the woman in the Gold Medal 
 picture, the scene of which flashed upon Dick with a 
 strange terrible realization ; the winter background of 
 lurid light, the snow, the bearded prisoners, the hooded 
 woman, the mounted guard, the thoughtful student, the 
 woman at bay. Before the officer in command had time 
 to say another word, Dick Chetwynd was on his knees by 
 the side of Philip Forsyth. 
 
 '•'■ Great God ! " he exclaimed, whispering into the ear of 
 the woman, ** the Countess Stravensky." 
 
 She looked at him with a tearful light in her great violet 
 eyes, and placed a finger upon her lips, with a gentle sibil- 
 lant " Hush ! " 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 383 
 
 Philip Forsyth, weary with travel and attacked with 
 fever, had fainted, and his strange dreamy forecast of the 
 two figures in that sketch which still lay upon the easel 
 near Primrose Hill was realized, with this exception, that 
 strong hands were near to protect and rescue him. 
 
 Dick Chelwynd had hardly put his arm round his friend 
 than he was roughly dragged into the roadway and literally 
 flung at the feet of Captain Karakazov, who saluted him 
 with some coarse words in Russian. The next moment, 
 Dick, on his feet, glaring at the officer, hurled at him a few 
 equally strong expletives in English. Both having thus 
 somewhat soothed their angry agitation, Dick, in French, 
 said : — 
 
 "Sir, I have orders for you from the Minister of War at 
 St. Petersburg, and a cipher also from His Imperial 
 Majesty' of still more importance." 
 
 '* Permit me to see them," said the officer. 
 
 While they spoke the evening was rapidly changing into 
 night. A lantern was brought, in the gleam of which Dick 
 Chetwynd showed his authoritative writings to Captain 
 Karakazov. 
 
 "They are sufficient," said the officer, ''and I beg you 
 will accept my apologies." 
 
 " If these orders are promptly carried out I assuredly 
 will ; otherwise " 
 
 " The orders will of course be promptly obeyed," reading 
 the St. Petersburg instructions, and laying emphasis on 
 the words. '' The unconditional release of the prisoner, 
 Philip Forsyth." 
 
 ** By order of the Czar," said Chetwynd somewhat 
 theatrically, quite contrary to his usual habit and manner, 
 but inspired by the surroundings, angered by his rough 
 usage, and anxious to emphasize to the fierce young 
 Russian, by whose orders he had been assaulted, the 
 tremendous Imperial authority against which he leaned his 
 
384 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 Stiff English back. 
 
 Two subordinate officials were detailed to the service of 
 the English traveler. 
 
 They carried Philip Forsyth, with his chains and long 
 grey cloak, insensible as he was, and placed him inside the 
 Russian carriage. 
 
 Dick gave the driver a handful of roubles, begging him 
 to hurry on to the nearest post, which fortunately was 
 within a short distance. 
 
 Anna Klosstock parted with her companion without 
 disclosing any more emotion than was concentrated into 
 her grip of Dick Chetwynd's hand. It was from the eyes 
 of the stolid Englishman that the tears streamed, not from 
 those of the suffering martyr, Anna Klosstock. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 AN OLD MAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 Travelers who know Siberia and readers who have 
 studied the literature of the subject need not be told that 
 it is not always winter in that vast region of the Russian 
 Empire, which is larger than Europe, and has nearly as 
 much variety of climate. If this last claim, however, be 
 somewhat exaggerative, it must at least be confessed that 
 there are tracts of Siberia which can boast of flowers and 
 gardens, song-birds, butterflies, clear streams, pleasant 
 lakes, and fertile valleys. A great portion of the country 
 in the provinces of Tobolsk and Tomsk, and including the 
 steppes of Baraba and Ishim, are of rare fertility ; they 
 are, indeed, the granaries of Russia. The valley of the 
 Yenesei, in Western Siberia, north of the Sayansk Moun- 
 tains, is not unworthy in its summer months to be com- 
 pared with the valley of the Severn in England. 
 
B V ORDER OF THE CZAR. 385 
 
 Consuk your Encyclopedia, and you will find that the 
 majority of the inhabitants of the central provinces of 
 Siberia are Russians and Poles, who have been sent thither 
 either as political or criminal exiles ; leavened somewhat 
 by a respectable minority of colonists. The worst type of 
 criminals and the prisoners who have given most offence 
 to the reigning powers in the fierce political conspiracies, 
 are condemned to hard labor in the mines ; others are 
 detailed for work of a less fatal character ; and there is a 
 third degree of punishment which gives to the political 
 exile a large amount of freedom, in which many live more 
 or less contentedly, with wives and families, and occasion- 
 ally even preferring such limited freedom to a return to 
 their former homes. They are relegated to specific districts 
 under the surveillance of the police, but are permitted to 
 employ themselves how they please. Some of these have 
 entered upon their new life with their household goods, 
 accompanied from Moscow by their wives. Many pathetic 
 stories that are honorable to our humanity are told of 
 lovely women thus sacrificing themselves on the altar of 
 their loves, even marrying for the sake of such feminine 
 martyrdom. 
 
 The general impression of the reader who has dwelt 
 upon the gentle romance of Madame Cottin's " Elizabeth," 
 is that around the heroine's humble home in the province 
 of Ishim, the world was dark and dreary, and had but one 
 sad tale of snow and chilly landscape, forgetting the author's 
 description of the four months of summer that reigned 
 even there with the perfumed blossoms of the birch-tree, 
 which the exiles cultivated in their little garden ; the play- 
 ful flocks of wild-fowl on the lake ; the genial character of 
 the air ; the pleasant sunshine. It is true these delights 
 were only enjoyed to the full by the natives of the country, 
 the. exiles still f/ghing for their liberty and the sight of old 
 
 friends, Elizabeth, in the well-known story, at last found 
 
 25 
 
386 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 a merciful Czar, and this present history is not all one long 
 record of Imperial tyranny, though the mercy found for 
 the exile of Tobolsk, and the interposition of the direct 
 Imperial power which marked the closing days of Anna 
 Klosstock and her father, not to mention the release of 
 Philip Forsyth, are romantic exceptions to the general out- 
 come of those official " orders of the Czar," which fill the 
 bleakest spots of the Siberian world with weeping and wail- 
 ing and gnashing of teeth. 
 
 There are instances of exiles, as I have said, preferring 
 to remain in the favored category of relaxed Siberian dis- 
 cipline, wretched men and women who have outlived their 
 friends, and who no longer feel that they possess the 
 capacity to begin the new life that is offered to them. 
 Possibly these cases are few and far between, but thousands 
 of exiles, after their term of detection has ceased, continue 
 in the country, becoming farmers, traders, trappers, and 
 following the occupations from which they had been car- 
 ried off by the strong and too often secret arm of the law. 
 
 Johannes Klosstock had for some years been permitted 
 the highest privileges allowed to the exile ; and he had 
 accepted the relief with the same religious resignation that 
 had entered his soul from the first. He had long since 
 ceased to suffer. The past had become to him a dream. 
 Happy Czarovna was still his world. He walked out in 
 summer days and saw Anna his wife. He sat by the stove 
 in winter and talked with Losinski and the famous Italian 
 traveler Ferrari. Once in a way there would come to him 
 disturbing glimmerings of the bitter change that had left 
 him all alone with only his dream. But he was a religious 
 man ; he bowed his head and prayed, and looked forward 
 to the coming of the Messiah, and to the reality of a 
 reunion of wife and child. 
 
 One summer afternoon,*sitting at the door of his simple 
 hut, where he was permitted to have the attendance of ai\ 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR, 387 
 
 old Polish housekeeper, who was devoted to the old man, 
 he saw the apparition of his daughter Anna. She came 
 out of the distant woodland, crossed the rough bridge 
 which spanned the stream, a tributary of the great lake ; 
 then pausing, she turned towards the cottage. The old 
 man smiled. The summer sunshine fell upon the much- 
 loved figure in what he conceived to be his happy dream. 
 *' My dear, dear Anna," he said ; and the woman came on, 
 flowers in her path, peace in her heart. She was no imagin- 
 ary Anna walking in the silent land of the father's tender 
 fancy ; she paused at the primitive gate that finished the 
 rough fencing of the tiny garden, and saw her father. 
 There was no demonstration on the part of either of them. 
 Anna was dressed very much in the fashion of her early 
 day. Her face was pale ; but the old light had come into 
 her eyes. Her red-gold hair showed streaks of grey ; but 
 her step was light, and her voice sweet and musical. When 
 she entered the garden the old man rose to his feet. He 
 passed his hands over his eyes, then stretched out his arms. 
 '• Father," said the well-known voice. " Anna," was the 
 only response, and the old Polish woman found them 
 locked in each other's arms. 
 
 In the closing days of this history Anna Klosstock and 
 her father are removing to the pleasanter country between 
 the post stations. of Ceremishkaya and Sugatskaya, which 
 Mr. Kennon has described as a rich open farming region, 
 resembling that portion of New York which lies between 
 Rochester and Buffalo ; and which may therefore on our 
 side of the Atlantic be fairly likened to the wolds of Lincoln- 
 shire or the wealds of Kent, without, however, the beautiful 
 hedgerow characteristics of the old country. The means 
 of the Countess Stravensky, despite the disappearance of 
 their owner, had in a great measure found their way into 
 the hands of Anna Klosstock, and her fatJier had received 
 valuable assistance from his banking frifends of Moscow 
 
388 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR,' 
 
 and St. Petersburg; so that here in the heart of the most 
 fertile of the Siberian country, father and daughter will end 
 their days together, with ample money for all their wants, 
 and sufficient for acts of chanty and benevolence. This 
 very winter Philip Forsyth has learned, through private 
 sources of information organized by Dick Chetwynd, that 
 the Klosstocks had purchased a homestead near Sugats- 
 kaya, which many a wealthy Russian might envy ; that the 
 old man, still dreamy in his manner and often wrapped in 
 reflection, nevertheless realized the happiness that had 
 come to him in his latter days ; and knew how great it was 
 in contrast with what he had suffered in the first days of 
 his exile ; while Anna only lived to give him pleasure, and 
 make her peace with heaven. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 THE GOLD MEDAL. 
 
 The picture is finished : the gold medal has been awarded ; 
 and " Tragedy " is the artistic sensation of the latest Royal 
 Academy exhibition. The barrier and the policeman have 
 once more appeared in the central gallery of Burlington 
 House. 
 
 Not alone for its exceptional merit is Philip Forsyth's 
 " Road to Siberia " the talk of the art world. Something 
 of the romance associated with it has leaked out. The 
 busy gossips of the society papers have told its story in 
 many and various ways. The facile pen of The Jenkins 
 of the Revieiv, whom we have met at Lady Forsyth's 
 receptions, had, however, penetrated some of the darkest 
 shadows of the mystery. By no means correct in its 
 details, the Review had graphically suggested the cour- 
 ageous and friendly journey of rescue which had been per- 
 formed by Dick Chetwynd ; the telegram of the British 
 
BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 389 
 
 Consul at St. Petersburg ; Dick's surprise on its receipt, 
 his hurried councils with Philip's mother and friends, and 
 his prompt expedition to Siberia were told with journalistic 
 effect. Dick's kindly reception at the hands of the Russian 
 officials, the usefulness of his early experiences as a war 
 correspondent in expediting his march, his adventures by 
 land and river, and the scene by the tragic frontier pillar 
 were quoted in all the journals, and eagerly devoured by 
 the public. But Jenkins secundus was altogether at fault 
 when he endeavored to indicate the part which the Countess 
 Stravensky had played in this extraordinary drama. 
 
 The mystery of the story indeed was untouched. The 
 Countess Stravensky had disappeared as completely as if 
 she had never existed. Neither the police nor Dick Chet- 
 wynd had solved the Stravensky problem, and Philip 
 Forsyth kept his own counsel in regard to that notable 
 person — kept it with a dogged silence that no one could 
 weaken. The young artist had come home again entirely 
 changed in manners and habit, and strangely altered in 
 appearance. Pale, thoughtful, and with the strongest 
 tendency to look upon the ground, Philip now appeared to 
 live in a world of his own ; and, happily for himself and 
 for Art, he devoted himself with a calm intensity to his 
 work. Back again at the studio beyond Primrose Hill, he 
 lived there for days together without making his appearance 
 at his mother's, or visiting the Chetwynd household. On 
 quiet evenings he might be seen strolling over the Hill, or 
 smoking a cigar upon one of its highest seats. As a rule, 
 he began work with daylight, and only laid down his 
 brushes at the approach of night. His models were queer 
 people, mostly selected from foreign emigrants and Eastern 
 sailors at the London Docks. For months his only recre- 
 ation appeared to be in continual visits to the Port of 
 London. He made sketches of the Jewish refugees from 
 Russian Poland and other districts, and occasionally 
 
390 J5V ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 brought his models straight to his studio, lodging them 
 close by ; finding vent for his feelings and direction for his 
 art in subjects of modern Russian history, not painted with 
 ostentatious political point, as might have been expected 
 from his somewhat fanatical impulse, but with a pathetic 
 fervor that permitted a margin even for the tremendous 
 difficulties that belong to the Russian political situation. 
 These studies, however, represent pictures yet to come ; 
 and it is not within the space of this present chronicle to 
 do more than forecast the future of Philip Forsyth from 
 the standpoint of his remarkable work, *' The Road to 
 Siberia," which has sufficiently impressed the fathers of the 
 Royal Academy to secure for its painter the first step to 
 honors which he neither desires nor resents. 
 
 Once in a way he will stroll into the Arts Club, or the 
 Hogarth, of an evening, and take a quiet, sober part in 
 the social life of these pleasant establishments. Occa- 
 sionally throwing off the shadow which has fallen upon his 
 young life, there is no assumption of undue though tfulness 
 or gloomy manner; it is quite natural to him, and is 
 accompanied with a certain unconsciousness of singularity 
 which disarms the personal affront of unsympathetic 
 criticism. He has rivals in his art, and critics in the press 
 entirely ignorant of his antecedents, who credit him with 
 intentional airs of eccentricity, and characterize both his 
 manner and his work as commercial and shoppy. But 
 Philip has suffered, and is strong, and once a week when 
 he goes to his mother's to spend Sunday and accompany 
 her to the little Catholic chapel round the corner. Lady 
 Forsyth finds a new pleasure and satisfaction in his com- 
 panionship, which is restful, quiet, non-argumentative, 
 and affectionate. He has a wholesome sympathy for the 
 suffering, and even in his criticisms of the Russian rule, 
 there is an appreciative sentiment of the obstacles which 
 
BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. -391 
 
 block the way of even the most charitable of Muscovite 
 monarchs. 
 
 The diplomatic skillfulness and pleasant geniality of 
 Walter Milbanke brought to bear upon the amiable and 
 happy nature of Sam Swynford through the medium of 
 Dick Chetwynd, have brought about a complete recon- 
 ciliation between the Forsyths and the merry sisters. 
 It is satisfactory to be able still to give them that familiar 
 title, the merry sisters. 
 
 Sam and Dolly, at the suggestion of clever Mrs. Mil- 
 banke, have made their home in the best part of 
 the fashionable regions of Kensington. The fortunate 
 young stockbroker, lucky in his marriage as in his finan- 
 cial speculations, had been able to give to Dolly all her 
 heart could desire, and at the same time to provide Mrs. 
 Milbanke with a house of call not less luxurious and 
 comfortable than her own. It is quite possible that under 
 the influence rather of Mrs. Milbanke's ambition than the 
 desire of her sister Dolly, Mr. Swinford may yet be heard 
 of in the great legislative council of the nation ; net that 
 he cares for public honors, but he has made sufficient 
 money to command the attention of one of the great parties 
 in the City, is popular wherever he goes, has already 
 refused a seat in the County Council, has been elected a 
 member of one of the great party clubs. He and his wife 
 are on the reception list of the Prime Minister's discreet 
 and accomplished wife ; and his coach at the last Hyde 
 Park Corner meeting was the best appointed of the day, 
 and certainly carried two of the most attractive women of 
 the season, Mrs. Swinford and Mrs. Milbanke, the wife of 
 the well-known conveyancing solicitor. 
 
 They met Philip Forsyth for the first time since their 
 marriage at a quiet Httle dinner given by Lady Forsyth at 
 Richmond. Philip was inclined to be somewhat bashful 
 at the outset, but was speedily placed at 'his ease by the 
 
392 BV ORDER OF THE CZAR. 
 
 wise discretion of Mrs. Milbanke, the pleasant lively con- 
 versation of Walter, and the rare capacity of Dolly Swin- 
 ford for talking about everything that was far away from 
 Philip's thoughts, and her charming facility for translating 
 pleasant ideas into music. She played and sang divinely 
 snatches of this opera and the other, never for one mo- 
 ment dropping into any suggestion of *' Carmen," and 
 always keeping clear of anything calculated to stir the 
 emotions. It was altogether on one side a most agreeable 
 plot to make Philip ignore anything in the past that could 
 unpleasantly influence the present, and he and his mother 
 were sympathetically receptive of these pleasant efforts of 
 social friendship. 
 
 With all his influence Dick Chetwynd has not been 
 able to learn anything of the fate of Ferrari, Petroski, aiui 
 the President of the meeting at the French Cabaret in 
 Soho. The Italian and his comrades must therefore pass 
 out of this history as many other men in Russia have 
 passed out of all knowledge of their friends and associates, 
 some»to die lingering deaths in stifling prisons, others to 
 grow grey in Siberian wilds. It may, however, be said 
 for Ferrari and his comrades of the Brotherhood that they 
 were always prepared for the martyrdom which they knew 
 they might at any moment be called upon to endure. 
 Moreover, Ferrari, if he had not lived to realize his best 
 hopes, had at least enjoyed the sweets of revenge on most 
 of his personal enemies. Whether his passion was a 
 righteous one or not, it was the chief motor of his life, 
 sanctified in his mind by the name of patriotism. So let 
 the memory of him be kept green at least for his courage 
 and devotion to the unhappy Queen of the Ghetto. 
 
 THE END. 
 

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 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY