whose danger surpassed mine a thousand-fold. I
remembered fifty little kindnesses that O'Dwyer
had done me, many and many a glimpse which
his conversation or conduct had afforded, of a
generous and noble disposition. By the new
light of this grim police revelation I could trace
much which had puzzled me before, and I knew
that the brave boy's natural frankness had
chafed at the concealment his position demanded,
and that he had been more than once on the
point of admitting me into his confidence.

And now, now that he was ill, feeble,
betrayed, and that a remorseless and stealthy spy
was at his elbow, what hope was there for the
banished man who had dared to come back and
beard the tyrants of his native land? My heart
grew sick within me as I remembered that
Stronow's threat about the cartridges and the
conrt-martial was no idle boast. Russian
tribunals of this sort were not too prone to mercy,
confident that their rough and bloody acts
would be called zeal and energy by courtiers and
bureaucrats.

A sudden clang of hoofs and neighing of
horses called me to the window, and in the
street below I saw a party of Cossacks, mounted,
gathering into a troop before the door, while
their trumpeter sounded a call. They were chatting
and laughing in their uncouth way, crouched
on the backs of their wiry steeds, and shaking
their long lances at intervals with a significant
gesture. A strong charger, well caparisoned,
was led up and down by a gendarme, and
presently Colonel Stronow, in uniform, but with a
grey capote over his green cloth and glittering
decorations, came out and mounted. He had
been, no doubt, unwilling to trust the caption
of so important a prisoner as young Sapieha to
other hands. The trumpet sounded shrilly, and
off went the wild riders, taking the direct course
towards the gate that faced Podlowitz. I watched
till the last spear-head vanished in the distance,
and then turned away with a groan.

A few minutes later I returned to the window,
and caught sight of a man leading a saddled
horse to and fro. The horse was my own, and
I knew the man well, a certain Karel, who had
been in our employ, and was now stableman at
the hotel, a lively fellow, and one who had often
done errands for myself and O'Dwyer. No
doubt he had heard me say I was going to the
Turken- strasse, and had brought my horse
thither, as I did not return to the inn. A new
idea, a new hope, dawned in my mind, and I
cautiously lifted the window.

"Karel!"

"My lord—— " the poor fellow paused,
perplexed at seeing my head thrust from a window
in that apparently deserted house.

"Karel, I am a prisoner. But never mind
that. Others are worse off. The police and
Cossacks have just started for Podlowitz to
capture Mr. O'Dwyer— Prince Adam Sapieha— ah!
I see you know who he is."

For Karel, a siim, fiery-eyed young Pole, had
turned white with anger and fear at the news,
and seemed like one at whose feet lightning had
fallen.

Meanwhile I tore a leaf out of my pocket-
book, pencilled a few words, twisted up the
paper, and tossed it out to Karel, who still stood
like one in a dream.

"Quick!" I cried; "jump on my horse. He
is a swift one, as you know. Take the path
through the woods, outstrip the bloodhounds if
you can— warn O'Dwyer— warn the men.
Prevoust, the Frenchman, is a Muscovite officer,
and has betrayed—"

"I go, English lord!" cried the Pole, as he
snatched up my scrap of paper, leaped into the
saddle, and rode off like one possessed. In an
instant horse and man had vanished.

I passed many weary hours in expectation,
and it was not till long past midnight that
Colonel Stronow and his soldiers came back,
baffled and furious, cursing the evil fortune that
had saved the prey from the hunter.

I was set at liberty on the fourth day, but was
conducted to the frontier by the police, and
forbidden on any pretext to return to Russian soil.
My employment was therefore forfeited, but I
found work elsewhere, and have never regretted
my share in the prince's escape, a suspicion of
which had so embittered the authorities against
me.

Karel arrived only just in time, and the workmen,
headed by the Obermann, and carrying
with them their young chief, as yet too weak to
sit a horse, made their retreat into morasses too
difficult for even Cossack horsemen. As for
Prevoust, or Gregovitch, a timely flight saved
him, and scarcely saved him, from the just wrath
of the Poles whose lives he had betrayed, and
who would have torn him to pieces in their
anger. Prince Adam Sapieha, after great
hardships and perils, lurking in the woods like a
hunted animal, and with a price on his head, was
fortunate enough to cross the Austrian frontier,
thanks to the devotion of his followers. I
afterwards saw him when he was in the Turkish
service, and I an engineer on the Smyrna and
Aidin line. But he is now, I believe, in Poland,
and once more risking his life for the cause to
which his best years and best faculties were
freely given.

THE UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELLER,
A New Series of Occasional Papers
By CHARLES DICKENS,
WILL BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK.

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