ch his fellow-brutes appeared to enjoy very much.

Then she was placed in position and forced to bow her head so that her
beautiful back might be rounded up for the cruel blows. And yet she did
not flinch, and Barnwell saw red scars that told of previous
castigations.

The grinning rascal raised his knout to strike her, when young Barnwell,
mad with indignation, leaped into the arena.

With one powerful blow he felled the burly rascal like a log, and
seizing his knout, placed his foot upon him and raised it as if to
strike.

The movement was so sudden and so bold that the officers were for a
moment paralyzed and stood looking at him.

"Wretches, to strike a woman! Flog me if you must vent your brutality,
but if you claim to be men, don't harm that girl!" he cried.

She was the only one present who understood the English language.

"Oh, sir," said she, "they will kill you for this!"

"Let them; I had rather die than witness such horrible brutality."

The next instant he was seized, or an attempt was made to seize him, but
before they succeeded in doing so, at least six of them felt his
powerful blows and went down under them.

Quick orders were given, and his clothes were stripped from him, and he
was held in position while the executioner rained blow after blow upon
him to revenge the one he had received.

And then he was hurried away and thrust into a cold, damp dungeon, his
lacerated flesh bleeding copiously, but with his heart still unbroken.

CHAPTER VI.

STRANGE ACQUAINTANCE.

William Barnwell suffered terribly during the next forty-eight hours
after his terrible flogging, for having resented the punishment of a
girl, for during all that time he was left without his clothes and
without food.

But his clothes were finally thrown into his cell, together with half a
loaf of black bread, dry and moldy.

He had never known what hunger was before, but now he seized that
disgusting loaf and ate it with avidity, and while doing so he dressed
himself, but without having a chance to wash his lacerations, the blood
of which had dried upon his back.

But he had suffered much from the cold, and his clothes were welcome
indeed.

What would be the next move?

He realized that he was a Russian victim, and that in all probability he
would never leave Siberia alive, and that his friends would never know
his fate.

Indeed, he understood now that exile to Siberia was like suddenly
sinking into the earth or