to the bench and making himself as
comfortable as possible he lay down. It was astounding that he could be,
as he was, accustomed to captivity in the space of a few hours. He might
have lived in bondage all his life, and he would be prepared to live for
ever so long as--he did not want to think of the girl, that sweeper of
Boolba's.

As to his own fate he was indifferent. Somehow he believed that he was
not destined to die in this horrible place, and prayed that at least he
might see the girl once more before he fell a victim to the malice of
the ex-butler.

To his agony of mind was added a more prosaic distress--he was
ravenously hungry, a sensation which was shared by his two companions.

"I've never known them to be so late," complained Cherry Bim
regretfully. "There's usually a bit of black bread, if there's nothing
else."

He walked to the window and, leaning his arms on the sill, looked
disconsolately forth.

"Hi, Ruski!" he yelled at some person unseen, and the other inmates of
the room could see him making extravagant pantomime, which produced
nothing in the shape of food.

It was three o'clock in the afternoon, and Malcolm was dozing, when they
heard the grate of the key in the lock and the slipping of bolts, then
the door opened slowly. Malcolm leapt forward.

"Irene--your Highness!" he gasped.

The girl walked into the cell without a word, and put the big basket she
had been carrying upon the table. There was a faint colour in the face
she turned to Malcolm. Her hands were outstretched to him, and he caught
them in his own and held them together.

"Poor little girl!"

She smiled.

"Mr. Hay, you have made good progress in your Russian since I met you
last," she said. "General Malinkoff, isn't it?"

The general stood strictly to attention, his hand at his cap--a fact
which seemed to afford great amusement to the gaoler who stood in the
doorway, and who was an interested spectator.

"It was Boolba's idea that I should bring you food," said the girl, "and
I have been ordered to bring it to you every day. I have an idea that he
thinks"--she stopped--"that he thinks I like you," she went on frankly,
"and of course that is true. I like all people who fly into danger to
rescue distressed females," she smiled.

"Can anything be done for you?" asked Malcolm in a low voice. "Can't you
get away from this place? Have you no friends?"

She shook her head.

"I have one friend," she said, "who is in eve