The Plymouth tribune. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1901-1911, 1904-12-29
By Order of the Gar
A Story of Russian Power
By MARCUS EASTLAKE
~@oS@~
CHAPTER II.-(Continued.)
A Story of Russian Power
GUS EASTLAK

l pass DR.. Scbleeman's CITES and
along the Nevski, shrinking under the
occasional glare Of a street lamp, and
gasping with relief each time l leave n
behind me, and can proceed for a space
under cover of the darkness. Meanwhile
the black, rolling clouds discharge them
selves, whilst the thunder growls and
mutters after the Pickering flash.
Long may the storm last, for If it
should clear before I have reached my
place OF refuge, faint indeed will be my
chance. II the moon should shine out
and illumine my still wandering feet I
am lost
Soaked through, with my shirt clinging
co my body-coat I ave none-the wat
er running In rivulets from my hair,
staggering from side to side, almost
blind and with a sickening dread of fall
Ing in a fainting fit, / at length reach the
narrow doorway which leads by a fight
Of stairs to Maruscha's lodging. Luckily
the narrow stone passage has no door to
the street. SO 1 stagger in somehow.
b mounting of those steps is like
an interminable nightmare. / drag my
self up with long agonizin1 pauses be
tween; step by step. There is but the
one hope left me now, that Of looking
once again on Maruscha's face ere l die.
At last the topmost step is gained, and
I see a bar Of light streaming from be-
meath the door. l lay my head down on
the landing and listen. Her light feet
are pacing the floor to and fro, now faint,
now near. 1 hear the sweep Of her
skirts against the door as she turns. Now
abe signs, ahI so dreariiy. Is she living
through again the awful scene Of my
execution?
Perhaps she is meditating self-destruc-
ton. Maruscha cannot live without her
Vladimir. l raise my head and try to
cali her name. The sound 1 make
startles and affrights me; it Is like the
croak of a raven! l have no voice where
with to call Maruscha!
l am lying at her door, where / cannot
remain / crawl close to it, striving to
summon up courage to knock. She Is
near me again. 1 hear her cry in de-
spair. Vladimir! my Vladimir! Oh, my
murdered love!" l breathe a prayer for
her and-knock. She has paused in her
walk and listens.
"Maruscha-open-it IL I~ / croaked
desperately. 1 used to have a mans
strong. deep voice; this could never b
recognized as proceeding from any hu-
man being.
Within l hear a gasp; but still she
opens not / must get 1t over at once
at any cost, I strike the door with my
hst She makes a resolve. Takes a quick
step forward-the key turns In the lock.
and the door opens wide.
I cannot see her dear face, but o, she
sees mine! She sees me when I crouch
On her threshold. a CHASTITY ~visitant from
the dead! / feel har eyes o N me. l
hear her catching breath. She ~recoils,
and catches at the table for support.
Fear me not, Maruschai 1t IL /,
vladimirr' She covers her eyes to shut
cut the sight of. me. "Maruscha-I am
no ghost. 1 am indeed thy Vladimir in
tho ieshI" 1 croak In my despair. / feel
my senses leaving me II would tell thee
aIl-the wonder Of it-but| dell
-pity-Maruschay'
CHAPTER III.
I wake from a long, long sleep-a
deep which has been troubled with
strange dreams. sometimes gracious ones,
full Of the presence Of Maruscha, when
/ have felt the soothing touch Of her
hands, looked into the deep blue wells Of
her eyes, and vaguely seen, fathomed
there, a wealth Of love, and patience, and
pity. There is q delicious perfume Of
roses in the air. reminding fe Of the
roses In the air, ~remindinG me Of the
home In Kief.
But / am not at home. Ny eyes have
begun to wander from one detail to an
other Of my surroundings; the dainty
toilet table with its gauzy drapery tied
with knots Of blue ribbons; the hanging
book shelves against the wall filed with
brightly bound volumes; the crimson
curtain Of the portiere that runs along
one entire sid-Maruscha's room Is d.
vided by a crimson portiere! The vase
with roses on the little table by my bed.
| gave that vase to Maruschai
There is a stir at the other side of
the portiere, and instantly her sweet
face appears at the opening in the cur
tans- 1 see the light of a great 10Y
leap suddenly to her eyes.
"vladirirrI' There Is a whole world
of soy In her utterance. She has my
hand IN hers, and our eyes meet in one
long look Of uHutterable satisfaction.
my dover" I murmur.
She puts her finger on her lips. Her
face Is radiant with smiles, and shining
Hike the morning star from the golden
setting Of her hair.
MY beautiful oner"
Thou must not talk, but sleep again,
my Vladimir"
She Is Withdrawing her hand, and 1
feebly catch at it. She will vanish, this
angelic vision, and leave me in darkness.
II go but to get thee thy medicine"
she says. and stroking the back of my
hand with her disengaged one; 'aThinkest
thou I would leave thee? I cannot IL /
would-thou knowest I could notr'
1 release her lingeringly, and watch
her glide away. throwing back at me a
tender glance. and a nod ere she dis
appears.
/ lie quite still. listening to the rustic
Of her dress as she moves about. There
"a the faint chink Of china and she Is
at MP side again, raising me with her
soft arms about my shoulders, whilst she
puts q cup to my lips
"Now you must drink this. nor leave
a dropr' she says. with a little air of
authority.
I do not object II 1t were poison and
held to my lips. by Maruscha. / would
swallow It; but it is bouillon, and the
fumes recommend 1t to my stoma-l
When / have drunk 1t, she deity turns
my pillow and lays me back.
Now thou wilt Sleep"
Her voice is like the COO Of the stock
dove. She takes up a bit Of needlework
from the easy chair, but goes and sits
whe1--vui OF the range Of my
vision
sWhers 1 can see thee. 1 pray thee,