meet no more. But he looked up and saw me.
And I lighted my lamp, and went down, and
undid the door, and went out. And it was my
Emile, alive, but dying, doctor."

With all my heart, I offered every assistance
in my power. The most cruel part of the matter
was, that we dared not bring the sufferer—for
the poor lad was smarting under the effects of a
gunshot wound, aggravated by privation and
neglect—into the house, nor even reveal his
presence to any one, his father not excepted.
The count—as his wife reluctantly owned—
could never in his life keep a secret, and his
nervous temperament would infallibly lead to a
betrayal of the fugitive's position, should he
learn the truth suddenly. Most of the servants
were faithful and trusty, but there were some on
whose discretion no reliance could be placed:
while one in especial, the major-domo, a
Courlander by birth, and who had been recommended
by the governor of Kalisch, was suspected of
being a spy. To harbour a deserter, particularly
one whose service in the ranks was the chastisement
of rebellion, was to commit an offence
which Nicholas never pardoned. If it were
known that Emile Oginski were sheltered
beneath the roof under which he was born, the
ruin of the family was certain to result, while
the youth himself would be sentenced to the
knout.

There was an outhouse, a sort of grange, over
which were two rude chambers, intended to
accommodate husbandmen at the season of
harvest, but which had for some time been
unoccupied. This building, old and ruinous, would
prove a safer shelter than the castle, and there
would be no prying eyes there. Food and clothing
could be conveyed there, and, under my care,
Emile might perhaps recover his health and take
some opportunity of crossing the Russian frontier,
which was at no great distance. Though
even on Prussian soil, as a deserter, young
Oginski was liable to extradition on the demand
of the Russian government. There was no
safety for the hunted wretch, short of the
civilised kingdoms of Western Europe. All this
was sufficiently clear and coherent, and I could
not but admire the prudence and forethought
with which maternal affection had inspired the
speaker. In as few words as possible, I pledged
myself to secresy, and snatching up my little
medicine chest and a pocket-flask of brandy, I
signified to the countess that I was ready to
follow her. Under her guidance, and treading
with extreme caution, I contrived to reach
the door that opened on the garden without
arousing any one, though it was necessary to
pass several doors, standing half open, according
to the careless custom of Polish domestics,
and from which issued the sound of the heavy
breathing of sleepers. We were soon out upon
the smoothly-mown lawn, speckled by the dead
leaves that had fallen during that autumn evening,
and the sickly gleam of the moon fell on
the fountains, on the statues, on the withering
flowers, and the softly swaying boughs of the
dark trees. But no human form could be seen,
and the idea occurred to me that the whole must
be a delusion, a mocking vision seen by the eye
of overstrained imagination.

"I bade him wait. I said I would soon
return. Emile, Emile!" whispered the poor
mother, gradually raising her voice. But there
was no reply. The countess trembled so much
that, but for my support, she would have sunk
to the ground. Suddenly she bent forward,
uttered a low cry, "There! he is there!" and
darted across the lawn to where, at the foot of
a spreading chesnut-tree, lay something hardly
to be seen by my duller eyes. I found that the
unfortunate young man was really lying there,
motionless, in the deep shadow. He was dressed
in the tattered and travel-stained garb of a
Russian peasant, his shoes were worn away by rough
travel, and his feet were cruelly scarred and
bleeding. There was a gory rag wrapped round
his left arm, and his matted hair hung wildly
about a haggard young face that must have been
handsome once. His lips were white; his eyes
closed.

"He is dead," said the countess, breaking out
into a low wail, as she kneeled on the wet turf
and gazed with despairing eyes upon the
prostrate form beside her.

"No, madame, he has only fainted. There is
a pulse, though a very feeble one, and the heart
beats; if I can get him to swallow a few drops
of this brandy, he will revive." I lifted the
passive head, and forced a small quantity of
the cordial between the pale lips. By chafing
the cold hands, and by repeating small doses
of the spirit, we managed with some trouble to
restore the sufferer's senses; but his strength
was quite gone. He had been so spent by
loss of blood and almost unheard-of hardships,
hunted like a wolf through the forests, that
all the strength of his youthful constitution
had been exhausted. Like some wounded
animal, he had made a desperate exertion to
reach his native scenes and die at home, but
the effort had been too severe, and the last
of his forces had been expended in the
struggle. He was conscious of his mother's
presence and caresses, but he could not
speak or stand, and it was necessary to carry
him to the old grange, as if he had been a sick
child.

More than an hour was now spent in providing,
as well as circumstances allowed, for
the poor fugitive. There was nothing in the
deserted building but some trusses of straw,
and two or three wooden bedsteads like those
commonly found in a military guard-room.
Food, water, warm clothes, bedding, must all be
brought, though at the imminent risk of detection.
The countess went untiringly on this errand,
again and again, gliding through the house, and
returning with linen, wine, blankets, and so forth,
while I remained with the patient, doing whatever
my experience could suggest to keep alight
the flickering lamp of life. We did not leave him
until, sparingly fed (for he was suffering from
actual famine, and a free supply of nourishment
would have proved fatal) and warmly wrapped