en murders, and was always bullying and tyrannizing the
quieter and weaker prisoners. One day he passed where Luka and Godfrey
were sitting on the edge of the plank bed talking together. Luka
happened to get up just as he came along, and Kobylin gave him a violent
push, saying, "Get out of the way, you miserable little Tartar dog."

Luka fell with his head against the edge of the bench, and lay for a
time half stunned. Godfrey leapt to his feet, and springing forward
struck the bully a right-handed blow straight from the shoulder. The man
staggered back several paces, and fell over the opposite bench. Then,
with a shout of fury, he recovered his feet and rushed at Godfrey, with
his arms extended to grasp him; but the lad, who had been one of the
best boxers at Shrewsbury, awaited his onset calmly, and, making a
spring forward just as Kobylin reached him, landed a blow, given with
all his strength and the impetus of his spring, under the Russian's
chin, and the man went backwards as if he had been shot.

A roar of applause broke from the convicts. Mikail rushed forward, but
Godfrey said to him:

"Let us alone, Mikail. This fellow has been a nuisance in the ward
ever since I came. It is just as well that he should have a lesson. I
sha'n't do him any harm. Just leave us alone for a minute or two; he
won't want much more."

[Illustration: GODFREY PUNISHES KOBYLIN IN THE CONVICT PRISON.]

The Russian rose slowly to his feet, bewildered and half stupefied by
the blow and fall. He would probably have done nothing more; but,
maddened by the taunts and jeers of the others, he gathered himself
together and renewed the attack, but he in vain attempted to seize his
active opponent. Godfrey eluded his furious rushes, and before he could
recover himself, always succeeded in getting in two or three straight
blows, and at last met him, as in his first rush, and knocked him off
his feet.

By this time Kobylin had had enough of it, and sat on the floor
bewildered and crestfallen. Everything that a Russian peasant does not
understand savours to him of magic; and that he, Kobylin, should have
been thus vanquished by a mere lad seemed altogether beyond nature. He
could not understand how it was that he had been unable to grasp his
foe, or how that, like a stroke of lightning, these blows had shot into
his face. Even the jeering and laughter of his companions failed to stir
him. The Russian peasant is accustomed to be beaten, and is