it may very safely be taken for granted, i think, that the happiness or unhappiness, success or non-success, of one’s life is brought about not so much by deliberate education or design, if i may so express it, as by some small event, the proper importance of which is far from being recognisable at the time. for instance, had browne not undertaken that yachting cruise to norway when he did, it is scarcely probable he would ever have met katherine petrovitch. in that case he would very possibly have married the daughter of some impecunious peer, have bolstered up a falling house with his wealth, have gone into parliament, received a title in due course, and would eventually have descended to the family vault, in most respects a mediocre man. but, as fate willed, he did go to norway — met katherine, fell in love with her, and now —— but there, with such a long story before me, it will scarcely do for me to risk an anti-climax by anticipating. let it suffice that, after he had said “good-bye” to maas, he lunched at the club, deriving a certain amount of pleasure meanwhile from the knowledge that he was engaged in a business which, should it become known, would undoubtedly plunge him into a considerable amount of hot water! and when you come to think of it, how strange is the pleasure the human mind finds in the possession of a secret! in our childhood it is a joy second only to the delight of a new toy. anarchism, nihilism, fenianism, and indeed the fundamental principle of every order of secret society, is the same thing, only on a larger and more dangerous scale, carried out by perverted imaginations and in the wrong direction. the fact, however, remains, that browne, as i have said, derived a considerable amount of satisfaction from the feeling that he was, in a certain sense, a conspirator. plainly as he had expressed himself to katherine, however, it is extremely doubtful whether he himself realised how difficult and dangerous the task he had taken upon himself was likely to prove. the russian government, at the best of times, is like dynamite, a thing to be handled carefully; and one minute’s consideration was sufficient to show him that the work he had pledged himself to undertake was not one that, in the event of things going wrong, would entitle him to the sympathy of his own government. he thought of the duke of matlock, and wondered what he would say if it should ever become known that he, john grantham browne, had assisted in the escape of a russian nihilist from the island of saghalien. he could very well imagine the pious horror of the duchess when the various rumours, which would be certain to go the round of the clubs, should reach her ears. and this suggested a still more unpleasant reflection. what if he should fail in his attempt to rescue the man, and should find himself in the clutches of the russian bear? what would his fate be then? his own country could scarcely demand his release, seeing that he would, in all probability, be caught red-handed. he put the thought away from him, however, as having nothing to do with the case. it was katherine’s father who stood in need of assistance, and it was katherine’s happiness which was at stake. that was enough for him. with the remembrance of her gratitude, and of the look he had seen in her face, when he had promised to help her, still fresh in his mind, such a thing as counting the cost was not to be thought of. having finished his lunch, he returned to his hotel, to find a note upon his sitting-room table. it was from katherine. he opened it, with a feeling that was half eagerness and half fear in his heart, and read as follows:

“dear love — how can i make you see how good i think you are, and how little i deserve such treatment at your hands! there is no one else in the world who would do what you have done, and i shall thank god always for sending you to my assistance. believe me, i know how much you are risking, and how much you are giving up, and are willing to forfeit, for my sake. oh, if i could only repay you as you deserve! but, come what may, you will always have my love, and my life-long gratitude. to-night an old friend will be with us, who in happier days knew my father. will you not come and let me introduce you to him?”

the letter was signed, “your loving katherine,” and to browne this seemed to be the pith and essence of its contents. how different it was from the note he had received that morning! they were as different as light and darkness, as black and white, as any simile that could be employed. in one she had declared that it was impossible for her ever to become his wife, and in the other she signed herself, “your loving katherine.” of course he would go that evening, not because the old man had been acquainted with her father, for he would have gone just as willingly if he had had a bowing acquaintance with her grandmother. all he wanted was the opportunity of seeing katherine, of being in the same house and room with her, of watching the woman he loved, and who had promised to be his wife.

accordingly, that evening after dinner, he hailed a cab and drove to the rue jacquarie. as he passed along the crowded thoroughfares, he could not help contrasting the different occasions on which he had visited that street. the first time had been on the night of his arrival in paris, when he had gone there in order to locate the house; the next was that on which he had repaired there in response to the note from madame bernstein; then, again, on the morning of that happy day they had spent together at fontainebleau; while the last was after that miserable letter he had received from katherine, in which she bade him give up the idea that she could ever become his wife.

on this occasion it was indeed a happy young man who jumped out of the vehicle and nodded to the concierge as he passed her and ran up the stairs. when he knocked at the door of madame’s sitting-room, a voice from within told him to enter. he did so, to find katherine, madame, and an old gentleman, whom he had never seen before, seated there. katherine hastened forward to greet him. if he had not already been rewarded for all the anxiety and pain he had experienced during the last few days, and for the promise he had given that morning, the look upon her face now would have fully compensated him.

“i thought you would come,” she said; and then, dropping her voice a little, she added, “i have been watching the hands of the clock, and waiting for you.”

but, even if katherine were so kind in her welcome to him, she was not destined to have the whole ceremony in her hands, for by this time madame bernstein had risen from her chair and was approaching him. browne glanced at her, and his instinct told him what was coming. knowing the lady so well, he felt convinced she would not permit such an opportunity to pass without making the most of it.

“ah, monsieur browne,” she began, her voice trembling with emotion and the ready tear rising in her eye, “you cannot understand how we feel towards you. katherine has told me of your act of self-sacrifice. it is noble of you; it is grand! but heaven will reward you for your goodness to an orphan child.”

“my dear madame bernstein,” said browne, who by this time was covered with confusion, “you really must not thank me like this. i do not deserve it. i am not doing much after all; and besides, it is for katherine’s sake, and that makes the difference. if we succeed, as i hope and trust we shall, it will be an adventure that we shall remember all our lives long.” he stopped suddenly, remembering that there was a third person present who might not be in the secret. being an ingenuous youth, the thought of his indiscretion caused him to blush furiously. katherine, however, was quick to undeceive him.

“you need have no fear,” she said; “we are all friends here. let me introduce you to herr otto sauber, who, as i told you in my letter, is an old friend of my father’s.”

the old man, sitting at the farther end of the room, rose and hobbled forward to take browne’s hand. he was a strange-looking little fellow. his face was small and round, his skin was wrinkled into a thousand furrows, while his hair was snow-white, and fell upon his shoulders in wavy curls. his age could scarcely have been less than seventy. trouble had plainly marked him for her own; and if his threadbare garments could be taken as any criterion, he was on the verge of actual poverty. whatever his nationality may have been, he spoke french, which was certainly not his mother-tongue, with considerable fluency.

“my dear young friend,” he said, as he took browne’s hand, “allow me, as an old man and a patriot, to thank you for what you are about to do. i sum up my feelings when i say that it is an action i do not think you will ever regret.” then, placing his hand on the girl’s shoulder, he continued: “i am, as i understand katherine has told you, an old friend of her father’s. i remember him first as a strong, high-spirited lad, who had not a base thought in his nature. i remember him later as a man of more mature years, whose whole being was saddened by the afflictions and wrongs his fellow-countrymen were suffering; and still later on i wished him god-speed upon his weary march, with his brother exiles, to siberia. in god’s good time, and through your agency, i look forward to welcoming him among us once more. madame bernstein tells me you love the little katherine here. if so, i can only say that i think you are going the right way to prove it. i pray that you may know long life and happiness together.”

the old gentleman was genuinely affected. large tears trickled down his weather-beaten cheeks, and his voice became thick and husky. browne’s tender heart was touched by this unexpected display of emotion, and he felt a lump rising in his throat, that for a few seconds threatened to choke him. and yet, what was there to account for it? only a young man, a pretty girl, a stout middle-aged lady in a puce gown, and a seedy old foreigner, who, in days long gone by, had known the young girl’s father. after this little episode they quieted down somewhat, and madame bernstein proposed that they should discuss the question they had so much at heart. they did so accordingly, with the exception of the old gentleman, who sat almost silent. it was not until he heard her expound the subject, that browne became aware of the extent and thoroughness of madame’s knowledge concerning russia and her criminal administration. she was familiar with every detail, even to the names and family histories of the various governors and officers; she knew who might be considered venal, and whom it would be dangerous to attempt to bribe; who were lenient with their charges, and who lost no opportunity of tyrannizing over the unfortunates whom fate had placed in their power. listening to her one might very well have supposed that she had herself travelled every verst of that weary road. plan after plan she propounded, until browne felt his brain reel under the strain of it. a little before midnight he rose to leave, and herr sauber followed his example.

“if monsieur browne is walking in the direction of the rue de l’opéra, i should be glad of his company,” he said. “that is to say, if he has no objection to being hindered by a poor old cripple, who can scarcely draw one foot after the other.”

browne expressed the pleasure such a walk would afford him; and, when they had bidden the ladies good-night, they set off together.