The Birmingham age-herald., 1907-10-13

had he not known them all in London
 when Lois was his friend and old Paul his neighbour There had been many Poles l by Thrawl street and the harsh music of
 their tongue came to him as an old friend. 1 It is true that he was housed luxuriously,
 in palace built for millionaires; but he
 had the notion that he would not long l continue there and that a newer and q | stranger destiny awaited him. This 1 thought, indeed he carried to his bed-
 room and slept upon at last He would 1 find Lois tomorrow and she would be his | messenger.
 There had still been excited crowds in
 the streets when he found his bedroom
 and q high balcony showed him the last 1 phases of a weird pageant Though it
 was then nearly midnight, Cossacks con- 1 tinued to patrol the avenue and the mob
 to deride them. By here and there, where 1 the arc lamps illuminated the pavement
 the white faces and slouched figures of l the more obstinate among the Revolution
 aries spoke of dogged defiance and an ut
 ter indifference to personal safety. Alban 1 could well understand why the people 1 had ventured out. but that they should ] have taken women and even young chil- 1 dren with them astonshed him beyond l measure These, certainly, could Vindi- cate no principle when their flesh was cut l by the brutal whips and the savage
 
 majesty of the Car Such sights he had l beheld that afternoon and such were l being repeated, if the terrible cries which | came to his ears from time to time were true harbingers Aban closed his win | dow at last for very shame and anger. He tried to shut the city's terrible voice from his ears. He wished to believe that {, his eyes had deceived him.
 This would have been about o'clock I in the morning. When he awo1e from I heavy sleep (and youth will sleep what | ever the circumstance) the sun was shn- | ing into his rooms and the church bells called the people to early mass. An early riser, long accustomed to be up and out l when the clock struck 6, he dressed him self at once and determined to see some l thing of Warsaw before the Count was l about This good resolution led him first to the splendid avenue upon which the great hotel was built and here he walked awhile, rejoicing in his freedom and won dering why he had ever parted with it. Let a man have self-reliance and courage enough and there is no city in all the world which may not become home to him, no land among whose people he may not find friends, no government whose laws shall trouble him. Alban's old nomadic habits brought these truths to his mind again as he walked briskly down the avenue and filled his lungs with the fresh breezes of that sunny morning. Why should he return to the Count at all? What was Gessner's money to him now? He cared less for it than the stones beneath his feet; he would not have pur- chased an hours command of a princely
 fortune for one of these precious mos ments.
 He was not alone in the streets. The
 electric cars had already commenced to
 run and there were many soberly
 lra .1y-tAa anfa1a It4tsr ino t1
 tories. It was difficult to believe that
 this place had been the scene of a civic
 battle yesterday, or to picture the great
 avenues, with their pretty trees, tall and
 stately houses and fine broad pavements,
 as the scene of an encounter bloody be-
 yond all belief. Not a sign now remained
 of all this conflict. The dead had already
 been carried to the mortuaries; the pris-
 oners were safe at the police stations,
 where, since sundown, the whips had
 been so busy that their lashes were but
 crimson shreds. True there were Cos
 sacks at many a street corner and patrols
 upon some of the broader thoroughfares but of Revolutionaries. not a trace.
 These, after the patient habits of their
 race would go to work today as though
 yesterday had never been. Not a tear
 would be shed where any other eye could
 see it-not a tear for the children whose
 voices were forever silent or the moth-
 CTS who had perished that their sons
 might live. Warsaw had become schooled
 to the necessity of sacrifice. Freedom
 stood upon the heights. but the valley
 was the valley of the shadow of death.
 Alban realized this In a dim way, for
 he had heard the story from many
 platform in Whitechapel. Perhaps he had
 enough selfshness in his nature to be
 glad that the evil sights were hidden
 from his eyes. His old craving for jour
 neying amid narrow streets came upon
 him here in Warsaw and held him fas-
 cinated. Knowing nothing of the city or
 it's environment he visited the castle.
 the barracks, the Saxon gardens, watched
 the winding river Vistula and the Praga
 suburb beyond. and did not fail to spy
 out the old town, lying beneath the guns of the fortress, a maze of red roofs and
 tortuous streets and alleys wherein the
 outcasts were hiding. To this latter he turned by some good instinct which
 seemed to say that he had an errand there And here little Lois Boriskof touched him upon the shoulder and bade him follow her-iust as imagination had told him would be the case. She had come up to him so silently that even trained car might not have detected her footstep Whence she came or how he could not say. The street wherein they met was one of the narrowest he had vet discovered The crazy caves almost touched above his head-the shops were tenanted by Jews already awake and crying their merchandise. Had Alban been a traveller he would have matched the scene only in Nuremberg, the old German town. As 1t was, he could but stare open-mouthed.
 Lois-was it Lois? The voice rang ia mliarly enough in his ears. the eyes were those pathetic patient eyes he had known so well in London. But the black hair cut in short and silky curls about the neck, the blue engineers blouse reaching to the knees, the stockings and shoes be- low-was this Lois or some young rela- tive sent to warn him of her hiding place? For an instant he stared at her amazed Then he understood.
 'Lois-it is Lois?" he said
 The girl looked swiftly up and down the street before she answered him. He thought her very pale and careworn He could see that her hands were trembling while she spoke.
 'Go down to the river and ask for Herr Petermann." she said almost in whisper ''I dare not speak to you here, Alb dear. Go down to the river and find out the mber-yard-I shall be there when you come.'
 She ran from him without another word and disappeared in one of the rows which diverged from the narrow street and were so many filthy lanes in tue posse ssion of the scum of Warsaw. To Alban both her coming and her going were full of mystery. If Count Sergius had told him the truth. the Russian gov ernment wished we'll not only to her, but Fat laa