may trust us fully in this matter," said Denviers. "We have given
our word to the mujik to render all the help we can."

"It is a terrible day to traverse the plain," the woman replied, as she
rose and threw open the rough door to the icy blast, which was only
imperfectly kept out before. We followed to where she stood, then
watched as she raised her hand and pointed at a distant object.

"See!" the woman cried, bitterly; "yonder pine cross marks the spot
where a brave man fell, he who was the lover of the daughter of
Lovetski, one of our Lost Ones. By it, before the day is ended, will
pass the long train of exiles guarded by the soldiery and headed by the
one who hates to see that monument of his own misdeeds, but fears to
remove it, for, persecuting the living, he dreads the dead." She closed
and barred the door again; then, after some hesitation, spoke of the one
to help whom we had gone so far.

"It was the night of a masquerade at the Winter Palace, long to be
remembered by many, for on the following day another rising of the Poles
had been planned to take place. A number of the leading citizens of St.
Petersburg were involved in it, but so well apparently was their secret
kept, that they ventured to accept the invitations issued to them. Amid
the mad revel the plotters moved, making occasionally a furtive sign of
recognition to each other, or venturing at times to whisper as they
passed the single word which told of all their hopes and
fears--'To-morrow!' Chief among them was Count Lovetski, who murmured
the watch-word more hopefully than any of those concerned whenever his
keen eyes searched out those sworn to take part in the revolt so near at
hand.

"For three hours the gay crowd moved through the salons, then Lovetski,
as he leant against a carved pillar, saw one of the revellers who was
clad in strange attire approach several of the masqueraders and
smilingly whisper something in their ears. At last the Count saw the
stranger move close to himself, and a moment after he heard a mocking
laugh from behind the black mask, as the unknown one stooped and uttered
the preconcerted word. Lovetski looked doubtfully at the man's sombre
garb, for the glance from his eyes was by no means reassuring.

"'To-morrow!' repeated the masker. 'Count Lovetski, you do not respond.
Have you forgotten?'

"'Lower your voice, or we shall be heard by others,' said the Count,
with a warning gesture. 'Who are you?'

"'One of the