frown that gathered on his forehead. When he spoke his voice vibrated with greater distinctness and staccato emphasis than ever.

"There will always be fools, Ivor, as long as time endures; even in eternity we shall doubtless find similar spirits to vex our hard earned rest. If I have misjudged you, it is enough, I beg your pardon. That there are traitors on every side who can know so well as I, who hold my life not worth the price of a rush-light! To be accused wrongly forms the greater part of man's experience, but to know one's own rectitude is sufficient compensation. The Chancellerie is for the moment secure in the integrity of its members, I believe; though in this Petersburg of ours, who can say how long even our institution will stand, or who shall prove the first traitor to its system? Let it be known then, Ivor, that Count Mellikoff has at present reached America, and that he is working under our protection and our surveillance. Even he needs to tread warily, for not even he is free from our suspicion, or our watchful care. No one, Ivor, no one, in all our great machinery, but has his double, whose duty it is to report to us every action, word, or occupation. A traitor would find short mercy, he might think himself fortunate had he time for a pater or an ave, or a cry to our Lady of Kazan. I need say no more, your warning will be remembered and acted upon."

Ivor bowed again in silence and turned back to his desk, but before he reached it Patouchki stopped him.

"I shall not require you longer, Tolskoi," he said, in his usual quiet voice, "you had better get an hour or two of rest now; at twelve I shall desire your attendance with me upon the Emperor and Empress, who will make at that time a private visit of inspection to Petropavlovsk. Meet me at the private entrance of the Palace, and now S'Bogorn: not understood."

"I will be there, chief," replied Ivor, promptly, a little smile creeping into his eyes and about the corners of his mouth. He drew on his heavy furred coat and stood for a moment, holding his cap under his arm, as he pulled on his long gloves, glancing now and then at Patouchki, who had returned to his writing, and was apparently so engrossed with it as to be oblivious of Ivor's presence, and forgetful of Ivor's warning.

"Good morning, chief," said Tolskoi, again ignoring his elder's more solemn salutation, "and thank you."

But Patouchki replied only by a gesture of his hand, and the next moment the heavy door closed noiselessly on Ivor's retreating figure. As he ran lightly down the short flight of stone stairs, and stepped out into the brilliant sunshine, the smile deepened in his eyes and about his mouth, and became a short gay laugh, that rang out clear and joyfully, cutting the cold keen air like a bell, and causing an old woman creeping slowly on her weary way, to turn and bless his youth and good looks in Our Lady's name.

"Hé! but 'tis good to be young, monsieur, and beautiful. Saint Peter send you a fair lady-love, and a short shrift!"

Ivor laughed again, and tossed the old dame a small coin; but the mirth died on his lips as he passed beneath the shadow of the great fortress, and recalled the gruesome context of the blessing bestowed upon him. "A fair lady-love, and a short shrift!" What a ghastly conclusion! What had he or Olga to do with death and death's ceremonies? He made very sure of winning his fair lady, but to take account with death, now in the full vigour and strength of his youth, had not entered into his calculations. A plague on all old women—evil prophets!—let them look after their own souls; as for him, a long life and a merry one stretched before him.

Then he began to hum again the broken strain from the opera; and as he did so, his thoughts travelled far ahead, and were on the whole satisfactory. Vladimir Mellikoff well out of the way, suspicion raised against him, no matter how faint, and the Italian, Mattalini, to dog his footsteps—for Ivor knew the Italian was the one picked out to serve as the Count's double—what might not he, Ivor Tolskoi, accomplish? Was not the way opening clear and straight before him, with Olga—beautiful, proud Olga—as his prize? What could be more opportune than the chief's selection of him to act as aide during the Royal inspection of the fortress; for well Ivor knew that Olga Naundorff would accompany the Tsarina, and that of necessity she would fall to his escort, as they passed from casemate to corridor of the giant prison.

Ivor was a firm believer in propinquity, and here would be a rare occasion for him in the relaxation of the strict Court etiquette, that usually hedged Mdlle. Naundorff about with a thousand barriers, for on such ex-officio occasions it was well known that the Tsar and Tsarina appeared with only a strong guard, and one lady and gentleman of their suite.

The great chimes of the fortress cathedral were ringing out the mournful cadences of the liturgy—"Have mercy, O Lord"—which in Petersburg mark each quarter of the hour, as Ivor passed out of the Chancellerie. It was close on eight o'clock, and already the streets and promenades were showing signs of renewed life. The great doors of St. Isaac's stood open, and into the vast misty building the devout of both sexes were passing rapidly.

Ivor paused, went up the steps, and looked within. The lights on the altar at the far end gleamed like so many tiny stars, through the diaphanous incense clouds, that clung always about the holy of holies. The dull gold on the massive ornaments and in the frescoes shone out here and there, thrown into relief by the more sombre purples and blues of their surroundings.

Before a statue of the Virgin and Child a woman had thrown herself in the abandonment of grief and petition; two or three scarlet kaftans of the Imperial Guard gave a touch of vivid colour, and contrasted chromatically with the white alb and golden vestments of the officiating priest. The low monotonous voices of the congregation rose and sank, like the murmur of the ocean breaking on the sands, as they, wrapt in private devotions, made known their petitions in low undertones, and quite irresponsive of the priest's function; while he, standing at the high altar, offered up the sacrifice of the mass.

As Ivor gazed half spell-bound, and half disbelieving, the woman who knelt before the Virgin's statue got up and moved slowly towards the door. She had thrown back her long veil, and her face against its blackness stood out in cameo relief. As Tolskoi's glance fell upon it, he started violently, and put out one hand involuntarily, as though to bar her way. But the woman dropped her veil instantly, and pushing rudely by him, walked rapidly down the steps and across the promenade; disappearing from view even as Ivor, recovering from his amazement, turned to follow her.

"Good God!" he exclaimed, standing for a moment uncertain what to do, the look of horror still stamped upon his features, "as I am a living man, that was the face of Adèle Lamien, the murderer of Stevan Lallovich, and his repudiated wife!"

CHAPTER II.

"IT WAS NO DELUSION."

At twelve o'clock that day, just as the great fortress cathedral chimes rang out the hour, repeating again the melody taken from the Eastern liturgy, "How glorious is our Lord in Sion," Ivor Tolskoi reached the side-entrance of the Palace court-yard, and, passing between the saluting sentinels, made his way towards a small door in one side of the building, before which marched constantly two of the Imperial Guard, whose business it was to watch jealously all in-going or out-coming traffic, and who, fully armed as they were, presented a sufficiently terrifying appearance, even to the most peaceful-minded.

Before this door two open sleighs were standing, their magnificent black horses handsomely decked out in gold-plated harness, and each wearing a triangle of gold bells spanning its back, from which the slightest movement