e came from her chamber,
and her sweet voice thrilled him just as it used to.

"Do you know this gentleman?"

She gazed at Barnwell a moment, and then sat down in a chair without
speaking.

"Do you not recognize me, Miss Clark?"

"It is barely possible that you are Mr. Barnwell, but if so, you are
greatly changed," she said, calmly.

"Yes, I am William Barnwell; there is good cause for the change you see
in me. I saw you driving out, but now, and resolved to see you both, if
for no other reason than to explain my conduct to you."

Then he proceeded to relate the story of his life since parting with
them, the story that the reader knows so well, holding them spellbound
for an hour or more with it, after which he was forgiven, and their old
relations resumed, greatly to the delight of all three, and especially
of Mr. Clark, who had noticed that his daughter was becoming more and
more low-spirited as the time grew longer, and Barnwell not heard from.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE DEATH OF AN EMPEROR.

One thing, however, Barnwell did not tell Mr. Clark or his daughter; and
that was how he was making use of the vast amount of money that had been
given him by Batavsky. That was always to remain a secret within his own
breast.

He felt that he was simply fulfilling a sacred trust, and gaining
revenge for his own terrible suffering.

He loved his beautiful countrywoman, and as soon as he had finished his
work he would make her his wife, and resume the travels he had set out
upon years before.

Naturally he was much in her company after their reunion, and this again
threw the detectives from the scent, for before long it became known to
them that they were to be married, and start for France and other
countries of Europe.

And yet the Nihilists in Russia and in Poland continued to be more
active and aggressive, and the police authorities made but little, if
any, headway in arresting them.

At length the aristocracy of St. Petersburg, Warsaw, Moscow, and other
large centers became almost panic stricken--not even daring to trust
their oldest servants.

This feeling was increased when the Czar found a note on his
dressing-bureau, which read as follows:

"Alexander.--My life was as good as that of your tyrant father,
Nicholas. He murdered me. My spirit will murder you.--Batavsky."

That the note was placed there by some bold Nihilist, a member of the
emperor's household, there could be no doubt, and although his pers