ft fall of an almost noiseless footstep and he
could distinguish a shadow a little darker than the surrounding shade,
moving quickly along the wall. He rose to his feet and crossed the street,
not believing, indeed, that the newcomer could be the man he wanted, but
anxious to be fully satisfied that he was not mistaken. He found himself
face to face with a young girl, who stopped at the street door of the
tobacconist's house, just as he reached it. Her head was muffled in
something dark and he could not distinguish her features. She started on
seeing him, hesitated and then laid her hand upon the same knob which
Schmidt had pulled so often in vain.

"It is of no use to ring," he said, quietly. "I have given it up."

"Herr Schmidt!" exclaimed the girl in evident delight. It was Vjera.

"Yes--but, in Heaven's name, Vjera, what are you doing here at this hour
of the night? You ought to be at home and asleep."

"Oh, you have not heard the dreadful news," cried poor Vjera in accents of
distress. "Oh, if we cannot get in here, come with me, for the love of
Heaven, and help me to get him out of that horrible place--oh, if you only
knew what has happened!"

"I know all about it, Vjera," answered the Cossack. "That is the reason
why I am here. I was with them when it happened and I ran off to get
Fischelowitz. As ill luck would have it, he was out."

In a few words Schmidt explained the whole affair and told of his own
efforts. Vjera was breathless with excitement and anxiety.

"What is to be done? Dear Herr Schmidt! What is to be done?" She wrung her
hands together and fixed her tearful eyes on his.

"I am afraid that there is nothing to be done until morning--"

"But there must be something, there shall be something done! They will
drive him mad in that dreadful place--he is so proud and so sensitive--you
do not know--the mere idea of being in prison--"

"It is not so bad as that," answered Schmidt, trying to reassure her.
"They assured me that he was treated with every consideration, you know.
Of course that means that he was not locked up like a common prisoner."

"Do you think so?" Vjera's tone expressed no conviction in the matter.

"Certainly. And it shows that he is not really suspected of anything
serious--only, because Fischelowitz could not be found--"

"But he is there--there in his house, asleep!" cried Vjera. "And we can
wake him up--of course we can. He cannot be sleeping so soundly as not to
hear if