wonder why missionaries are not sent to England to teach
them the truth, and try to civilise the people?"

"That would, indeed, be coals to Newcastle. But here comes one of the
workers."

"It is my father," cried the girl, rising. "I fear I have been
loitering. I never did such a thing before."

The man who approached was stern of countenance.

"Ruth," he said, "the workers are athirst."

The girl, without reply, picked up her pails and departed.

"I have been receiving," said the young man, colouring slightly, "some
instruction regarding your belief. I had been puzzled by several remarks
I heard, and wished to make inquiries regarding them."

"It is more fitting," said the man, coldly, "that you should receive
instruction from me or from some of the elders than from one of the
youngest in the community. When you are so far recovered as to be able
to listen to an exposition of our views, I hope to be able to put forth
such arguments as will convince you that they are the true views. If it
should so happen that my arguments are not convincing, then I must
request that you will hold no communication with our younger members.
They must not be contaminated by the heresies of the outside world."

[Illustration: "RUTH AT THE WELL."]

Stanford looked at Ruth standing beside the village well.

"Sir," he said, "you underrate the argumentative powers of the younger
members. There is a text bearing upon the subject which I need not
recall to you. I am already convinced."

[Illustration: POLITICAL EXILES EN ROUTE FOR SIBERIA]

MEMOIRS OF A FEMALE NIHILIST.

BY SOPHIE WASSILIEFF.

ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. ST. M. FITZ-GERALD.

INTRODUCTION.

BY MRS. MONA CAIRD.

In giving to the world her exciting and terrible story, "Mademoiselle
Sophie" has also conveyed incidentally some idea of her remarkable
character. As I had the privilege of hearing from her own lips all that
she relates in this series of papers, I can supplement her unintentional
self-portraiture by recording the impression that she made upon me at
our first meeting.

I had always taken a strong interest in the political movements of
Russia and in the Slavonic races whose character and temperament have
something more or less mysterious to the Western mind. The Russian novel
presents rather than explains this mystery. It is perhaps to the Tartar
blood that we must attribute the incomprehensible element. Between the
East and the West, there is, psy