Siberia, whence we have, by the goodness of God, escaped
from Holy Russia, our mother? They called us Nihilists--as if all
Nihilists were of one way of thinking!

We did not belong to the Terrorists,--the section that believes in
killing the tyrant or his agents in hope that the hearts of the mighty
may be shaken as Pharaoh's was in Egypt long ago. No; we were two
students of nineteen years old, belonging to the section of
"peasantists," or of Peaceful Education. Its members solemnly devote
all their lives to teaching the poor people to read, think, save,
avoid _vodka_, and seek quietly for such liberty with order as here in
America all enjoy. Was that work a crime in Verbitzsky and me?

Was it a crime for us to steal to the freight-shed of the Moscow and
St. Petersburg Railway that night in December two years ago? We sat in
the superintendent's dark office, and talked to the eight trainmen
that were brought in by the guard of the eastern gate, who had
belonged to all the sections, but was no longer "active."

We were there to prevent a crime. At the risk of our lives, we two
went to save the Czar of all the Russias, though well we knew that
Dmitry Nolenki, chief of the secret police, had offered a reward on
our capture.

Boris Kojukhov and the other seven trainmen who came with him had been
chosen, with ten others who were not Nihilists, to operate the train
that was to bear His Imperial Majesty next day to St. Petersburg. Now
Boris was one of the Section of Terror, and most terrible was his
scheme. Kojukhov was not really his name I may tell you. Little did
the Czar's railway agents suspect that Boris was a noble, and brother
to the gentle girl that had been sent to Siberia. No wonder the heart
of Boris was hot and his brain partly crazed when he learned of Zina's
death in the starvation strike at the Olek Mines.

Verbitzsky was cousin to Zina and Boris, and as his young head was a
wise one, Boris wished to consult him. We both went, hoping to
persuade him out of the crime he meditated.

"No," said Boris, "my mind is made up. I may never have such another
chance. I will fling these two bombs under the foremost car at the
middle of the Volga Bridge. The tyrant and his staff shall all plunge
with us down to death in the river."

"The bombs--have you them here?" asked Verbitzsky in the dark.

"I have them in my hands," said Boris, tapping them lightly together.
"I have carried them in my inner clothing for a we