s, his
pale face streaming with blood. A broken key in the grille told the
story of his foiled attempt to escape. Grimy hands clutched at Malcolm's
knees as he drove through the press, a stone whistled past his ear and
shrill voices uttered imprecations at the daring foreigner, but he
swerved to left and right and made a way until the sight of the dead
horse brought his frightened mount to a quivering standstill.

He leapt from the saddle and sprang to the girl's side, and to his
amazement his appearance seemed to strike consternation into her heart.

"Why did you come? Get away as quickly as you can," she breathed. "Oh,
you were mad to come here!"

"But--but you?" he said.

"They will not hurt me," she said rapidly. "It is the old man they want.
Can you smash the lock and get him inside?"

"Give us the book, Jew," yelled a deep voice above the babel of sound.
"Give us the book and you shall live! Lady! Magnificence! Make the old
man give us the book!"

Malcolm took a flying kick at the gate and the lock yielded. He half
lifted, half carried the old man and pushed inside, where another locked
door confronted them.

"Have you a key?" demanded Malcolm hurriedly. "Quick!"

The old man felt in his pocket with trembling fingers and in doing so he
crept behind his guardian. Malcolm now turned and faced the crowd.

"Come in, for God's sake," he called to the girl, but she shook her
head.

"They will not hurt me," she said over her shoulder; "it is you!"

At that moment Malcolm felt something heavy slipped into the loose
pocket of his jacket and a quivering voice, harsh with fear, whispered
in his ear:

"Keep it, _gospodar_. To-morrow I will come for it at the Grand Hotel at
the middle hour!"

The crowd was now surging forward and the girl was being pressed back
into the little lobby by their weight. Suddenly the door opened with a
crack and the old man slipped through.

"Come, come," he cried.

Malcolm leapt forward, clasped the girl about the waist and swung her
behind him.

The shrieks of the crowd broke and a new note crept into the pandemonium
of sound, a note of fear. From outside came a clatter of hoofs on the
cobbled roadway. There was a flash of red and white pennons, the glitter
of steel lances and a glimpse of bottle-green coats as half a sotnia of
Cossacks swept the street clear.

They looked at one another, the girl and the man, oblivious to the
appeal of hand and voice which the old man in t