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r:-THE BROKEN FETTER,

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r:- THE BROKEN FETTER, By JOHN K. LEY8, Anthos of "In bite Toils," "The Lindsays," •v. Ac., &c. [COPYRIGHT.] CHAPTER XVII. Alaxis' Letter. There were half-sheets of common, oo&rse paper, such I' Ursula remembered seeing in the village when she was a girl. Tenderly she nnfold bheiu, and pressed them to her hps and then her bosom. As she spread them out to 7e them a warm tear-drop fell on the open e. Every inch of space was covered with fine writing. The six pages must have taken hours to write, so small and clear was the caligraphy. With glowing eyes and fast-beating heart Ursala began to read. Urania, best and dearest of sisters How I Jong to see thee I do not say I would give two years of my life, for life is now to me something worse than valueless—but I think I would consent to suffer two years longer for one poor half-hour of your company. How is it with you, my sister 1 Are you still hving in the Castle ? Or have you gone abroad ? Are you an exile, like so many of our countrymen ? Are you rich or poor, well or ill, happy or miserable ? Do you think sometimes of your unhappy brother ? I ask these questions, but I know well I shall never receive an answer. Seldom, very seldom, does a message from the great hvin? world outside penetrate this lepulcbre-a letter never. But I must tell you how it is that I am able to communicate with you, and what my life has been since we parted at the drawbridge of the Castle. I was sentenced to imprisonment for life but as my offence was purely political it was under- stood that I would be sent to Siberia. BUbwhether through some official blunder I was confounded with some other prisoner, or whether I uncon- sciously made an enemy of some personage in Authority, it matters little. I was sent here instead, and my existence has been one long gainful martyrdom since I arrived at Birtova. I will not shock you with an account of my suffer- ings they are not so great as those of some other unfortunate creatures who are confined here. I fcave sense enough not to court punishment by Tesenbing the insults I receive. But my heart has "led to see how some wretched prisoners are first baited into being refractory and then punished with the utmost cruelty. Captain Ivanieff, the vernor, is a monster ot wickedness. lie seems to blind his superiors with ease no law is known in this prison but his will. Some weeks smce Ivanieff was superseded, fle disappeared, no ona knew whither. Everybody toped that his malpractices had been discovered, And that he had fallen under the displeasure of the Government. There was a rumour that he jsad received a threatening letter from the Mibittsts, and that may have had something too do with his sudden removal, though I confess I do eat think him the sort of man to be frightened in ihab way. At any rate, he was gone, and we anjoyed some weeks of quiet, I might almost say "f comparative happiness. But ten days ago the Hews spread through the prison that Ivanieff had returned, and I venture to say that no man heard report without a curse, or at least a groan of despair, escaping his lips. Some time ago I seut you a message—whether It ever reached you or not of courSH I cannot tell. of the wardere, whose name I must not anention, undertook to deliver it to some friend of bis, who, he seemed to think, might bo able to iiave it forwarded to you. I had great hopes that t might be able to open some way of communica- tion with the outside world by means of this unan but it was not long before he was removed to another part of the prison, aud then to another town. In bis place there has been assigned to IDe a soldier named Sindorff, through whose kindness I am enabled to write this letter. And now for my secret—the great news which Snakes my baud tremble as I write. Ursula, there is a chance for me to escape from this place of horror. After some persuasion, Sindorff has pro. mised to aid me so far as to leave the door of my cell unlocked one night. More than that he says he dare not do but I think I may be able to persuade him to leave an old coat in the corridor to enable me to bide the prison dress to some extent. Once outside my cell, and with a whole night to work iu, it will go hard with me if I Cannot break out of the prison. But, of course, you will see that when I do get outside the walls my task wiU be only half done. I shall be re-captured to a certainty unless I have some one at hand to :ud me—to provide me with clothes, money, and the means of leaving the country. And I have no one to look to but you, my sister for I could not expect any of myoid friends, unless it were our cousin Borovitchi, to undertake the frightful risk of helping a prisoner to esoape. But Borovitchl will advise you how to angage trustworthy agents, and assist yon to do All that is necessary. I shall not have time probably, to make any preparations and it may be that you may have no opportunity of replying to this better. So I Will tell you now what yo must do. I shall make no attempt to escape before the end of May, for you will need some time to make the necessary arrangements. Engage a thoroughly trustworthy agenb-Borovitcbi will do this for you—and provide him with money enough to buy a pair of good horses. You must also entrust him with a sum of five hundred roubles, which I have promised to give to Sindorff, the warder. No" far from this prison IIhere is a chureh with 1\ peal of bells. I hear them ring on Sundays it is the only thing I have to remind me of the free, happy world outside these walls; Tell your agent to find a house as near this ohurch as possible, a house provided with a stable. Every night after the thirty-first of May he must saddle the horses an hour after sundown, and keep them saddled till dawn, so that they may be ready at any moment during the night that they are wanted. It may be im- possible for him to find a bouse with the necessary accommodation in the town if eo, he nrasb take a small farmhouse, as near to the town as he can. But in any case—and this is the im- portant point— he must be waiting for me near the church at intervals through the night, every night from the first of June till the end of the month. If I could I would fix a day, but that I cannot do. Sindorff will naturally choose a day when he thinks he may be able to act with the least likelihood ot suspicion falling upon him. But you may rely on it, I will urge him to let the day ohosen be as early in the month as possible. As your agent cannot be expected to spend every uight in the open air, his best plan will be to secure a bedroom in one of the houses which overlook the church, and in that case he could wateh for me from his window. Bat entreat him not to rely entirely upon that, but to visit the church, at least occasionally during each night, for you must understand that if be and I fail to meet I am a lost man. To make sure of our recognising each other, I will say to him when we meet, Do you think it will rain to-morrow ? And tell him to reply, 1 There has been snow in June before now.' If your agent should find it impracticable to carry out my suggestions about horses, he must find a lodging for me within a few miles of the town, to which we can go at once. The best way would be to rent a cottage in a lonely neighbour- hood. If he cannot do that, be mast tell the people of the house tbat he expects a brother to visit him from Moscow, or some other town. In any case tell the man to bring an overcoat or oloak with him to the church for every minute I remain out of doors in the hateful prison dress I offer myself, as it were, to be apprehended. And now, dear sister, I have oome to an end of my paper, without saying anything of the love that is burning m my heart for you. If I was fond of you during those happy months we spent together at Beritza, you are a thousand times dearer to me now. You are continually in my thoughts and at night I often dream of you. I dream sometimes that I am riding with you over the wide, treeless plains, the fresh wind of heaven on my cheek. I see you as plainly, may be, as ever I saw you in my life; you even seem to speak to me. And I awake to find my- self within these stone walls, kept like a wild beast in a cage. But I am no longer a prisoner withouc hope. Oan it be possible, Ursula, that in a few weeks I I shall see you ? I cannot realise it. I know the enterprise is more than doubtful, but it is well worth risking. I am not sure—I cannot make up my mind—whether it would be safer to make a bolt for the frontier at once, or try to find a I hiding-place in some quiet neighbourhood in this country, and lie still until the search fdr me is relaxed. Consult with Borovitohi about this I will do whatever you and he think best. And now, dearest sister, good-bye. God bless you, and give you wisdom and strength to aid me. The issue is in His hands. Pray for IDe, that I may be set free,—Your brother, ALEXIS." No words could tell the emotious that filled Ursula's heart as she read this letter, One moment surprise and joy almost overpowered her the bext she was tremblIng with apprehension. Ae toon as she had finished the letter she read it through a second t ime, then a third time, to make 8Qte that she thoroughly understood all that hev brother meant to convey to her. As she replaced the letter in its envelope sbe examined the cover to see whether it had been forwarded by her friend at Beritxa. But it bad Doll been posted in Russia. The only post-mark Jfas London—W.C. and she concluded that it «ad been enclosed in a letter sent to Goloffski, Who, Dimitrieff had told her, had relations living at Birtova. A sad smile crossed the girl's face as she re- membered her brother's repeated allusions to Borovitchi as being the only man who could be betted on to help her in this emergency—Boro- Vitohi, whose treachery had been the indirect eause of all Alexis' sufferings. Bub to whom, could she go for assistance ? Who would help her to find an agent as once bold, shrewd, Jfctient, and trustworthy ? Dimitrieff ? She Iled from the idea of placing confidence in him. His face, his bearing, voice had inspired r with distrust. Besides, she knew nothing of his capability to find ber a suitable agent. There was another difficulty. She had already "Pent & large part of her two hundred pounds, "early a hundred must be set aside for the reward *hich Alexia had promised to the gaoler, Sindorff. *We was barely enough left for railway fares and hiring of lodgings—certainly not enough for e purchase of horses. There was only one who might help, both with •Ovice and money—Eli Lobieski. He might have home. As the thought crossed her mind rose instinctively to her feet. There was pot a moment to be lost, for already the month advanced. By the 1st of June everything ke in readiness. The thought of Alexis •otUally free| wandering about that church he th j of throughout the summer night, dreading «»« dawn which would proclaim him an esoaped by the clothes he wore, seeking with Ver,sh haste, sick with anxiety, for the succour • ncoeoted »*»d finding ••w — this though*) I haunted her as the fear of the gallows haunts a I murderer. The first thing, she considered, was to ascertain whether Lobieski had come home, or had sent any letter telling where he might be found. Her hopes were fixed on him: Oh, surely," she thought, he must have come back by this time. or, if not, Rachel may know where he is. If he is in Russia I can go to him there at once." Without waiting even to eat or to change her dress, she drank the cold tea which was still upon the table, and set oat for Lobieski's house. CHAPTER XVIII. A Mysterious Telegram. it was nearly eleven before Ursula reached the I Manor House. The shrubs and trees that sur- rounded the old weather-beaten dwelling were now dressed in their robes of green, but they failed to render the place bright and cheerful. The signs of neglect were more apparent than aver. The grass that bordered the avenue was encroaching upon the gravel the flower-beds had not been attended to everything told of forget- fulness, stagnatior "wnd decay. It seemed to thu birl that all this was a sigu that the master of the house had not returned, and she was prepared for the melancholy shake of the head which Rachel gave in answer to her enquiry. No, ma'am," said the woman, he's not come back and no word from him either, as far as I know." She paused and glanced behind her, as if she feared being overheard. Can I come in f asked Ursula. "I should like to speak with you." Would you mind coming into the kitchen said Rachel, as she closed the outer door behind her visitor. We shall be more comfortable there." As they crossed the hall Ursula happened to look upstairs, and there she saw, looking over the bannisters, the dark visage of Madame Fabrini scowling at her. Arrived in thegreat stone-floored kitchen,Rachel first of all locked the door, and then drew an arm. chair forward upon a large piece of carpet which covered the floor in front of the fireplace, and made her visitor sit down. I see you lock the door," said Ursula, with an amused siiiiie. "Surely you would not pre- sume to keep the housekeeper out if she chose to come in ?" Would I not ?' cried Rachel. She has no business here, and she knows it. I don't own her for my mistress, not while the master is away. Since he left she had the impudence to dismiss me, as she called it. I told her she might dismiss herself, if she liked, but that I meant to stay and watch over the furniture till my master came back." Well r She said she would send for the police, aud have me turned out. I told her to do it if she liked and the police did come, but refused to interfere. So ever since she won't have anything to do with me cooks her own meals, and makes Sarah wait upon her. I am sure the master will turn her out of the house when he comes back." I am sura I hope he may," said Ursula, glad to get back to the one subject that was of importance in her eyes. But if you can even make a guess as to where M. Lobieski can be, I wish you would tell me. I am going away—to Russia, to help my brother to escape from the prison at Birtova Is it possible, ma'am ? God help you I trust He will," said Ursula, calmly. And I must, if possible, see your master first. If there is any town in France or Germany which he is in the habit of visiting, I would go there on my way to Russia. Have you no idea where he may be ? Can you give me no hint that might put me on his track ?" Indeed, ma'm, I cannot; except that I believe he went home." Home ? To Russia ?" Yes. I am very anxious about him." Do you think—?" I think he may have been arrested. And in that case we may never see him again." Oh don't say that," cried Ursula. That would be too horrible." The face of the Polish woman did not soften into an expression of pity. It was hard and stern, butt for a pained look about the eyes, which betrayed her anxiety. I am afraid it must be that," she said in a low tone. He has never been away from home so long before without writiug to me. If he were at libertiy he would surely let me hear from him." But he is so prudent. He would never run into danger," said Ursula. True; but he has enemies, "(returned Rachel, with a quick glance at the door. You mean Madame Fabrini f* She and some others. Last night she went to London-" I know." interrupted Ursnla. I happened to be in the house when the servant mentioned her name." Were you indeed 1 And whose house was it, if I might be so bold as ask the question f She thought she recognised the man. I I know no reason," said Ursula, why I should not tell you. It was to the house of Count Borovitchi that Madame Fabrini went last night." Ah," said Rachel, sagely nodding her head, then no doubt it was he who sent her the telegram in the afternoon." Indeed She got a telegram. then. I wish I knew what that message was," said Ursula, remembering how the Count had in her hearing denied that he so much as knew Madame Fabrini's name. The message would most likely be asking her to go and see him," said Rachel, a little mystified. She bad no knowledge of Ursula's belief that the Italian woman and the Count had been accom- plices in the attack upon her life. Do you think it possible," said Ursula, suddenly lifting her head, and fixing her beautiful eyes on her companion's face, do you think it Essible that a letter may have oome from M. ibieski, and she has told you nothing about it ?" It is possible, though I think the master would have written to me, at least if be were in any kind of trouble. But if she knows where the master is we can't make her speak." No but do you think it possible that he can have written to you, and that Madame Fabrini baa suppressed the letter ? Rachel sprang to her feet,ih6r eyes glowing, her muscles strained with passion. Raising her clenched hand over her head—" If I thought that," she said, solemnly, I would kill her." Don't get so exoibed, please, Rachel. I really know no reason why the housekeeper should keep back any letter or message M. Lobieski may have sent to you, nor any reason why she should try to prevent your knowing where he is. It is all pure conjecture on my part. It only struck me as being possible." I will soon find out," cried Rachel. How r The daughter of our postmistress, who looks after the mails, is a friend of mine. She has a sick child, and I gave it medicine and helped to nurse it. She will tell me whether any letter baa arrived for me lately." While she had been speaking the woman had thrown on a bonnet and shawl. She and Ursula left the house together. You had better wait^outside," said Rachel, when they had reached the post-office. Please go towards the railway station, and I will come on and overtake you when I have found out what I want to know." Rachel was gone a long time, much to Ursula's surprise. The girl was able to go on to the station, and return almost as far as the Post Office, before her companion rf joined her. Just as you thought cried Rachel. "She has stolen my lebiier One oarno for me yesterday morning. It had foreign stamps. It must have been from the master. What are we to do r, rm afraid we can't do anything," said Ursala, gravely and sorrowfully. unless the postman gave the letter to Madame Fabrini." "No," said Rachel, I waited to see him and he declares he put it in the letter-box, and rang as usual. I remember hearing the bell, but that woman was before me. She must have been waiting behind the door, and no doubt took it out of tbe letter-box even before the postman had time to ring. She showed me a newspaper addressed to herself as if that was all that had come. Cannot we punish her ? Can't we force her to give up the letter?" "You might prosecute her, I*rtl&pS but that oan wait till you master oomes home. We oould not force her to tell what was in your letter and by this time she has certainly burned it." I did something for you while I was waiting for the posdman," said Rachel, after a moment's silence. MM Newman went upstairs to see after hur liMle one and I remembered that you had said that you would very much like to see the telegram that came for Madame Fabrini last night. So I just turned over one or two of them, and soon came to it. I took a copy of it. Here it is." Ob, Rachel, you shouldn't have done that; it T\6r^ kind of you, but too dangerous." Danger J Pooh 0 >- must not be too rcrupulous when one ha lo with a brigand. Take it." Ursula took the monel I-I i)er. and read- Let me know, the nioinnut you hear new "f L.-If he returns suddenly, at all costs prevent him and the Oonntesii m-ninu. This is of grtld importance They must for a day or two, cost what it may." Ursula felt bewildered. Why should Count Borovitchi »•. owrwrnr, to nrevent a nnoting between M. Lobieski and herself—for she, of course, must be the Countess of the telegram— at that particular time ? Hin reason, whatever it might be, could not relate to the affair of the writing-desk, for that had happened after the despatch of the telegram. However, there was no time to think about it then. Ursula went into the post-office and bought a sheet of paper, a pencil, a bit of sealing-wax, and a couple of envelopes. In one of the envelopes she placed the three letters which she had taken from Borovitchi's writing-table. On the sheet of paper she hastily scribbled a note for Lobieski. Dear Friend," she wrote, I am going to Russia, to help my brother to escape from prison. If we fail I may be taken. In that case—tbat is to say, if you do not hear from me before the 15'h of July, you may open the euclosed envelope. I, Ursula Beritza, took these three letters from a locked drawer in the writing-table of Count Borovitchi. You will know how to act with regard to them. But in dealing with him. be as merciful as yon can. Remember that he is my near relation. Your continued absence has caused me great anxiety, but I am glad to know that you are still alive. Rachel will explain what became of your letter to her. Farewell.— Ursula Beritza." This letter, with the others, Ursula put into the second envelope, which she sealed, addressed to M. Lobieski,and handed to Rachel, charging her t,, give it to her master when he returned. Then she bade Rachel farewell and returned to London. Ursula's next visit was to Dollis HIll, By good luck Maud was at home; and she ran at once into the drawing-room to welcome her friend. Ursula took her caress almost without knowing it was given, so great was her anxiety. Maud, can you help me she said, devouring the girl's face with her eyes. Can you lend me a large sum of money—fifty pounds ? My brother, you know, is in a Russian prison. He has written to me; and he says he has a chance of escaping. But money is needed. I have not enough by at least fifty pounds. Is it possibly, do you think V She stopped, quite unable 110 go on. I am sure papa will give you a oheque if I ask him," said Maud, passing her arm round the other's waist, and forcing her to sib down. But he is not here. He will not be home till five o'clock!" II No." And every momeut is precious to me. I had hoped to be able to leave London to-night You, Ursula Are you going yourself to Russia ?" Yes, I must." Why, you are a heroine I almost envy you —bub wait." She ran out of the room, and came back in a few minutes, carrying a little drawer in her hands. In it there lay a cheque for five and twenty pounds, a five pound note, and three sovereigns, and a small antique watch set with brilliants and pearls. "Mr Lewis, the jeweller, inBond-sfreet, offered me J350 for this watch once," said Maud. He will be willing, I am sure, to lend yon twenty on the security of it; or at least tell you bow to get the money, I will write him a note that you can take with you. But how weak and ill you look, poor darling Ob, no Bub how good you are, Maud Oh, how good And she seized the large white, shapely hands, and kissed them passionately. Maud's eyes glistened. Don't, dear. It is'nt worth it. You see, I thought papa might ask questions, and make objections but he refuse to give me some more money. He can't help himself. Now, you must, and shall eat some lunch while I write the note to Mr Lewis." On reaching her lodgings with the money safe in her pocket, Ursula told her landlady that sbe was obliged to leave for the Continent at a moment's notice, and that in consequence she would give up her rooms. Her reason for this was that she wished to make it impossible for Borovitchi to trace her on her return to London. Her belongings she paoked in a trunk, which sbe deposited at the lefHuggage office at the railway station as she left London by the evening mail. I Determined not to spend a penny which she could save, Ursula travelled by third-class. As she was sitting onithe deck of the steamer she noticed a tall, ill-dressed man, something like a mechanic out of work, loaning over the bulwarks. Something in his shape and carriage made her think that she had seen him before, and that not long since. She rose, and went nearer to him. Then she knew him. It was the man who had coma to her lodgings with the Secretary on the night when she joiued the Society of bhe Nihilists. A moment later she remembered his name-Goloffski.1 Stepping up close to him Ursula laid her hand on his arm and spoke to him. He started, looked round, and stared at her. When he saw who it was he stared yet harder. You have not forgotten me, I see," said Ursula, in her low sweet voice nor have I for- gotten you. I am glad to meet you, for I am quite alone, and I can trust myself with one of our own people. But first let me thank you for forwarding me that letter. It was from him— from my brother." What letter ? I know of no letter." But it was certainly from my brother, Count Beritza." Then she remembered that the warder in charge of her brobber had been changed aud that the new warder might have found some other way of communicating with her. It did not occur to her to ask how he had discovered her address in London. Where are you going ?" she asked her com- panion. I ? To Russia." Is it not dangerous for you ?" asked Ursula, dropping her" tloe to a whispar, II too dan- gerous t" "Idy not care. I must go." I, too, am going to Russia," said Ursula, after a pause. Shall we go together V Together, Countess ? You nnd Yes. I need your help." Tbe rough peasant bent down, and in the friendly darkness reverently kissed her dress. Then he said, simply, I am ready." (T. be continued. )

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