luded that the person must be a
lunatic, although he could but shudder at the thought that he might have
been driven to madness by the very same imprisonment which enshackled
him, and so turned away.

His own misery was quite enough for him, and just then he was in no
humor to listen to another's.

"Ha, ha, ha! So you are in the trap, eh?" asked the mysterious prisoner.

"What trap?" asked Barnwell.

"The rat-trap of the great Russian Empire."

"I don't know. Who are you?"

"Nobody; for the moment a person gets into the great political rat-trap
he loses his identity, and is simply known by a number. I am Number
Nineteen; you are Number Twenty."

"How do you know?"

"I can see the number of your cell, as you can, of course, see mine."

"What were you brought here for?"

"For fancying that I was a man, and that I had rights in the world. I
was thrown into this dungeon--it must be three months ago--for throwing
down the horse of a nobleman who attempted to drive over me. I have had
no trial, and expect none. I am as dead to the world as it is to me. I
am simply Number Nineteen, and when this prison gets too full of the
victims of tyranny, I shall be hustled off to Siberia, to make room for
new victims."

"It is dreadful. But in my case I did nothing against the law. I simply
brought a letter from America to Prince Mastowix, and he at once threw
me into this place."

"Ah! he is the same who threw me into this dungeon, because I resented
being run over."

"And for that you think you will be sent to Siberia?" asked Barnwell.

"I am sure of it."

"For so slight an offense?"

"Many a slighter one has consigned better men than I am to the mines of
Siberia for life. As for you, you have somehow offended the tyrant."

"I cannot understand how. I brought a letter to him from a man in New
York."

"What man?"

"One Paul Zobriskie."

"Paul Zobriskie!" exclaimed the man, clutching the bars that grated the
window of his door. "Do you know him?"

"No; I was simply on the point of sailing for Europe when he approached
and asked me to deliver a letter to Prince Mastowix. I did so, and you
know the rest."

"Paul Zobriskie is the greatest terror that Russian tyranny knows. He is
a bugbear; but why should he be in correspondence with Prince Mastowix?"

"I know nothing about it."

"There is a mystery somewhere," mused the man.

"If there is, I know nothing about it."

"Were I at liberty, I would take pains t