three weeks had elapsed since that memorable afternoon, when the party on board the yacht, had obtained their first glimpse of the island of saghalien. in pursuance of the plan macandrew had revealed to him in hong-kong, browne had left his companions upon the vessel, and for upwards of forty-eight hours had domiciled himself in a small log-hut on the northern side of the bay of kroptskoi, awaiting news of the man whom they had come so far, and undertaken so much, to rescue. it was the night of full moon, and the scene which browne had before him, as he stood, wrapped up in his furs, outside the door of the hut, was as miserable as a man could well desire to become acquainted with. the settlement, as i have said, was located at the northern end of a small bay, and had once consisted of upwards of six huts, built upon a slight eminence, having at its foot a river still ice-bound. at the back rose a still more precipitous hill, densely clothed with taiga, or forest. so impenetrable, indeed, was it, that even the wolf and bear found a difficulty in making their way through it. to the right, and almost unobservable from the huts, was a track that once connected with the coal-mines of dui, but was now overgrown and scarcely to be distinguished from the virgin forest on either side.

on this particular evening, browne was the reverse of easy in his mind. he had left the yacht buoyed up by the knowledge that in so doing he was best serving the woman he loved. it had been arranged with macandrew that they should meet at this hut, not later than the thirteenth day of that particular month. this, however, was the evening of the fifteenth, and still neither macandrew, nor the man they were endeavouring to rescue, had put in an appearance. apart from every consideration of danger, it was far from being the sort of place a man would choose in which to spend his leisure. the hut was draughty and bitterly cold; the scenery was entirely uninviting; he had no one to speak to; he had to do everything — even his cooking — for himself; while, away out in the bay, the ice chinked and rattled together continually, as if to remind him of his miserable position. it was nearly nine o’clock, and he could very well guess what they were doing on board the yacht. his guests would be in the drawing-room. katharine would be playing one of those soft german folk-songs, of which she was so fond, and most probably thinking of himself; madame bernstein would be knitting in an easy-chair beside the stove; while the gentlemen would be listening to the music, and wondering how long it would be, before they would be at liberty to retire to the smoking-room and their cigars. he could picture the soft electric light falling on a certain plain gold ring on katherine’s finger, and upon the stones of a bracelet upon her slender wrist. taken altogether, he did not remember to have felt so home-sick in his life before. as if to add to his sensation of melancholy, while he was pursuing this miserable train of thought, a wolf commenced to howl dismally in the forest behind him. this was the climax. unable to bear any more, he retired into the hut, bolted the door, and, wrapping himself up in his blanket, laid himself down upon his bed and was soon asleep. when he looked out upon the world next morning he found himself confronted with a dense fog, which obscured everything — the forest behind him, the ice-girdled shore in front, and, indeed, all his world. it is, of course, possible that, in this world of ours, there may be places with more unpleasant climates than saghalien, but it would be difficult to find them. on the west coast the foggy and rainy days average two hundred and fifty-three out of every three hundred and sixty-five, and even then the inhabitants are afraid to complain, lest it might be worse with them. as browne reflected upon these things, he understood something of what the life of katherine’s father in this dreadful place must be. seeing that it was hopeless to venture out, and believing that it was impossible the men he expected could put in an appearance on such a day, browne retired into his hut, and, having closed the door carefully, stirred up the fire, and, seating himself before it, lit a cigar. he had another day’s weary waiting before him. fortunately, when his boat had brought him ashore from the yacht, it had also brought him an ample supply of provisions and such other things, as would help to make life bearable in such a place. on the rough table in the centre of the hut were arranged a collection of books of travel and adventure, and, since he did not pretend to be a blue-stocking, a good half-dozen novels, yellow-back and otherwise. one of the latter, a story by miss braddon, he remembered purchasing at the dover bookstall the day he had returned from paris with maas. as he recalled the circumstances he could see again the eager, bustling crowd upon the platform, the porters in their dingy uniforms, the bright lamps around the bookstalls, and the cheery clerk who had handed the novel to him, with a remark about the weather. how different was his position now! he opened the book and tried to interest himself in it; the effort, however, was in vain. do what he would, he could not rivet his attention upon the story. the perilous adventures of the hero in the forests of upper canada only served to remind him of his own unenviable position. little by little the sentences ran into each other; at length his cigar dropped from his fingers, his head fell forward, and he was fast asleep. how long he slept it would be impossible to tell, but when he rose again and went to the door the fog had drawn off, darkness had fallen, and the brilliant northern stars were shining in the firmament above. once more his hopes had proved futile. another day had passed, and still he had received no news of the fugitives. how long was this to go on? feeling hungry, he shut the door and set about preparing his evening meal. taking a large piece of drift-wood from the heap in the corner, he placed it upon the fire, and soon the flame went roaring merrily up the chimney. he had made his tea, and was in the act of opening one of his cans of preserved meat, when a sound reached him from outside, and caused him to stop suddenly and glance round, as if in expectation of hearing something further. it certainly sounded like the step of some one who was carefully approaching the hut. who could it be? the nearest civilization was the township of dui, which was upwards of a hundred versts away. he had been warned, also, that the forest was in many places tenanted by outlaws, whose presence would be far from desirable at any time. before he went to the door to draw the bolts he was careful to feel in the pocket of his coat for his revolver. he examined it and satisfied himself that it was fully loaded and ready for use. then, turning up the lamp, he approached the door, and called out in english, “who is there?”

“the powers be thanked, it’s you!” said a voice, which he plainly recognised as that of macandrew. “open the door and let us in, for we’re more dead than alive.”

“thank god you’re come at last,” exclaimed browne, as he did as the other requested. a curious picture was revealed by the light which issued from the open door.

standing before the hut was a tall man with a long gray beard, clad in a heavy cloak of the same colour, who held in his arms what looked more like a bundle of furs than a human being.

“who are you?” cried browne in astonishment, for this tall, gaunt individual of seventy was certainly not macandrew; “and what have you got there?”

“i’ll tell you everything in good time,” replied the other in english. “in the meantime just catch hold of this chap’s feet, and help me to carry him into the hut. i am not quite certain that he isn’t done for.”

without asking any further questions, though he was dying to do so, browne complied with the other’s request, and between them the two men carried the bundle into the hut and placed it in a chair before the fire.

“brandy!” said macandrew laconically; and browne immediately produced a flask from a bag and unscrewed the lid. he poured a quantity of the spirit into a cup, and then placed it to the sick man’s lips, while macandrew chafed his hands and removed his heavy boots.

“i have been expecting you for the last two days,” browne began, as soon as they had time to speak to each other.

“it couldn’t be managed,” returned macandrew. “as it was i got away sooner than i expected. the pursuit was so hot that we were compelled to take to the woods, where, as ill-luck had it, we lost ourselves, and have been wandering about for the last four days. it was quite by chance that we reached here at all. i believe another day would have seen the end of this fellow. he knocked up completely this morning.”

as he spoke the individual in the chair opened his eyes and gazed about him in a dazed fashion. browne looked at him more carefully than he had yet done, and found a short man with a small bullet head, half of which was shaven, the remainder being covered with a ferocious crop of red hair. though he would probably not have confessed so much, he was conscious of a feeling of intense disappointment, for, from what he had heard from katherine and madame bernstein, he had expected to see a tall, aristocratic individual, who had suffered for a cause he believed to be just, and whom sorrow had marked for her own. this man was altogether different.

“monsieur petrovitch,” said browne in a tone, that might very well have suggested that he was anxious to assure himself as to the other’s identity; “or rather, i should say, monsieur ——”

“petrovitch will do very well for the present,” the other replied in a querulous voice, as if he were tired, and did not want to be bothered by such minor details. “you are monsieur browne, i presume — my katherine’s affianced husband?”

“yes, that is my name,” the young man answered. “i cannot tell you how thankful your daughter will be to have you back with her once more.”

to this the man offered no reply, but sat staring into the fire with half-closed eyes. his behaviour struck browne unpleasantly. could the man have lost his former affection for his daughter? if not, why was it he refrained from making further inquiries about the girl, who had risked so much to save him? macandrew, however, stepped into the breach.

“you will have to be a bit easy with him at first, mr. browne,” he said. “they are always like this when they first get free. you must remember that, for a good many years, he has never been asked to act or think for himself. i have seen many like this before. once get him on board your yacht, away from every thought and association of his old life, and you will find that he will soon pick up again.”

“and madame bernstein?” asked the man in the chair, as if he were continuing a train of thoughts suggested by their previous conversation.

“she is very well,” said browne, “and is also anxiously awaiting your coming. she has taken the greatest possible interest in your escape.”

“ah!” said the man, and then fell to musing again.

by this time browne had placed before him a large bowl of smoking beef-extract, which had been prepared by a merchant in england, who had little dreamt the use it would be put to in the farthest east. as soon as the old man had satisfied his hunger, browne led him to his own sleeping-place, and placed him upon it, covering him with the fur rugs. then he returned to the table, and, seating himself at it, questioned macandrew, while the other stowed away an enormous meal, as if to make up for the privations he had lately endured. from him browne learnt all the incidents of their journey. disguised as a russian fur merchant, macandrew had made his way to the town of dui, where he had made inquiries, and located the man he wanted. at first it was difficult to get communication with him; but once that was done the rest was comparatively easy. they reached the forest and made for the coast, with the result that has already been narrated.

“between ourselves,” said macandrew, “our friend yonder is scarcely the sort of man to travel with. he hasn’t the heart of a louse, and is as suspicious as a rat.”

browne said nothing; he was thinking of katherine, and what her feelings would be, when he should present this man to her as the father she had so long revered. he began to think that it would have been better, not only for the man himself, but for all parties concerned, if they had left him to meet his fate on the island.