ould not imagine how strong was the bond of
friendship between Carson and me. He loved our Shakespeare, even as I
love him."

"You wrote to Lord Southbourne," I interrupted bluntly. "And you sent
him a portrait,--a woman's portrait that poor Carson had been carrying
about in his breast-pocket. Now why did you do that? And who is the
woman?"

His answer was startling.

"I sent it to him to enable him to recognize her, and warn her if he
could find her. I knew she was in London, and in danger of her life; and
I knew of no one whom I could summon to her aid, as Carson would have
wished, except Lord Southbourne, and I only knew him as my friend's
chief."

"But you never said a word of all this in the note you sent to
Southbourne with the photograph. I know, for he showed it me."

"That is so; I thought it would be safer to send the letter separately;
I put a mere slip in with the photograph."

Had Southbourne received that letter? If so, why had he not mentioned it
to me, I thought; but I said aloud: "Who is the woman? What is her name?
What connection had she with Carson?"

"He loved her, as all good men must love her, as I myself, who have seen
her but once,--so beautiful, so gracious, so devoted to her country, to
the true cause of freedom,--'a most triumphant lady' as our Sha--"

"Her name, man; her name!" I cried somewhat impatiently.

"She is known under several," he answered a trifle sulkily. "I believe
her real name is Anna Petrovna--"

That conveyed little; it is as common a name in Russia as "Ann Smith"
would be in England, and therefore doubtless a useful alias.

"But she has others, including two, what is it you call them--neck
names?"

"Nicknames; well, go on."

"In Russia those who know her often speak of her by one or the
other,--'La Mort,' or 'La Vie,' it is safer there to use a pseudonym.
'La Mort' because they say,--they are superstitious fools,--that
wherever she goes, death follows, or goes before; and 'La Vie' because
of her courage, her resource, her enthusiasm, her so-inspiring
personality. Those who know, and therefore love her most, call her that.
But, as I have said, she has many names, an English one among them; I
have heard it, but I cannot recall it. That is one of my present
troubles."

"Was it 'Anne Pendennis,' or anything like that?" I asked, huskily.

"Ach, that is it; you know her, then?"

"Yes, I know her; though I had thought her an English woman."

"That is her mar