CHAPTER XXV.

GOOD OLD FRIENDS.

It was the evening of the thirteenth of August. The Hungarians had that day laid down their arms. A-dAśn Baradlay sat at an open window in the fading twilight, writing letters to his mother and his wife, informing them that he should await his fate where he was, even as the Roman senators had calmly awaited theirs, sitting in their curule chairs and scorning to fly before the invader. He viewed the situation with the calmness of a philosopher and showed none of the feverish uneasiness of those who were intent only on their own personal safety. He had not even thought to provide himself with a passport, as so many of his associates had done.

While he thus sat, writing his letters and heedless of his surroundings, a stranger approached him.

"Am I addressing A-dAśn Baradlay?" he asked.

"That is my name," replied A-dAśn. "May I ask yours in return?"

"My name is Valentine Schneiderius, evangelical clergyman of Pukkersdorf. I have brought you a letter, but am in haste and must not linger. As long as the Russians are in our rear the way is open; but presently it will be closed." He delivered his letter and withdrew.

A-dAśn broke the seal and read:

"DEAR FRIEND,--I shall never forget the ties that unite our families. Your late lamented father was my friend, and nothing could now induce me to look on and see the destruction of a true patriot like yourself. Would to God I could help many more! I send you an English passport, all signed and sealed, to take you out of the country. Write any name you choose in the blank space. Burn this.

"Your old friend, "ZEBULON TALLA%ROSSY.

"P.A S. Go by way of Poland and you won't be known. When safe, think of your country; perhaps you can yet do something for your poor people.

"Z.A T."

A-dAśn examined the passport and found it complete in every detail,--even to being creased and soiled like a much-handled document. Then he threw it down, ashamed at the thought of using it to save his life when so many of his comrades in arms were in danger of death or captivity. Yet the mere prospect of safety made his pulse beat more rapidly, and involuntarily his thoughts turned to those dear ones at home who looked to him for comfort and support,--his wife and two little children.

He read once more the last words of Zebulon's postscript; they showed no little shrewdness on the writer's part. What if he could really secure aid for his country abroad? The temptation was too great. He took up the passport again and glanced at the signatures on its back. Among them was RideghvAiry's. No, that man should never enjoy the triumph of hissing in his ear: "This is the last step to that height!"

He burned Zebulon's letter, as well as the two he had just written to his wife and his mother, and, summoning his servant, bade him hasten to Nemesdomb and inform his mother of his flight to a foreign country; she should hear further particulars from him later. Then he completed his preparations for a hasty departure, wrote in the name "Algernon Smith" on the passport, put the paper in his pocket, called a carriage, and set out on his flight.

The enemy's first outpost was successfully passed. The commanding officer examined his passport, found it correct, and affixed his signature. A-dAśn was free to go on. His second station was Gyapju, whence he wished to continue directly to VAirad, and thence by way of Szigeth into Galicia. At Gyapju he was conducted to the commandant's quarters. Entering with an unconcerned air, he inquired to whom he should show his papers. There were several officers in the room, one of whom asked him to wait a few minutes until the commandant came in. Meanwhile an adjutant made the necessary examination of his passport and found it apparently all right; the one thing now required was the signature of the commanding officer.

The entrance of the latter caused A-dAśn a violent start. The man before him was--Leonin Ramiroff, grown to manly proportions and wearing the stern, soldierly look of one entrusted with military responsibility. The adjutant called his attention to the paper awaiting his signature, assuring him that it was all in order. Leonin took up a pen, wrote his name, and then turned to hand the passport to A-dAśn. The latter felt his heart stop beating as he met that sharp, penetrating gaze.

"You are not Mr. Algernon Smith," exclaimed the Russian officer in English, drawing himself up to his full height; "you are A-dAśn Baradlay."

A-dAśn's heart sank within him. "And are you going to betray me?" he asked, likewise in English.

"You are my prisoner."

"This from you, Leonin Ramiroff, my bosom friend of old, my faithful comrade on a long winter journey when we were chased by wolves; you, the man who plunged into the icy river to save me at the risk of your own life?"

"I was merely a young lieutenant in the guard then," replied Leonin coldly.

"And now will you hand me over to my bitterest foes, to the derisive laughter of the conqueror, to a miserable death on the scaffold?"

"I am now a colonel of lancers," was the other's only reply; and with that he tore the passport in two and threw it under the table. "Take the prisoner away and put him under guard."

The adjutant took A-dAśn by the arm and led him out. The house was full of officers and their servants, so that no place could be found for the prisoner but a little shanty built of boards, adjoining the stable. Here he was confined, and a Cossack stationed with his carbine outside as guard.

Every three hours the guard was changed. Being acquainted with Russian, A-dAśn understood the order given to his jailer,--"If he tries to escape, shoot him."

At nine o'clock in the evening a thunder-storm came up. The rain descended in torrents, and in the flashes of lightning the captive could look through the cracks in his prison-wall and see the Cossack standing ankle-deep in mud and water, his carbine ready for instant use. The storm passed over; the tower-clock struck eleven; in the adjoining stable A-dAśn heard the Russian cavalrymen snoring, while their horses were stamping under an improvised shed near by.

Suddenly he heard his name called, cautiously and in a whisper.

"Who is calling me?" he asked.

"I--the guard."

"What! do you know me, too?"

"Do you remember your sledge-driver on the Mohilev steppe,--the time we were nearly eaten up by the wolves? You stood by me then, and I'm going to stand by you now. At the back of your shanty is a loose board,--the fourth from the bottom. You can push it aside and crawl out. The horse-shed is behind. My horse has his saddle and bridle on; you'll know him by his white tail. He's the fastest runner in the regiment. Mount him and make for the garden in the rear, and then follow the storm. You'll find the horse a good one, and easy on the bit. Don't be afraid of me if I shoot after you; I'm bound to do it, though I'm not to blame for all the loose boards in your prison. And one word more: when you have mounted my horse, and want him to go, press his flanks with your knees, but don't whip him. If you use the whip he'll stand stock-still, and the harder you whip the stiller he'll stand. More than one horse-thief has come to grief for want of knowing that. His name is Ljubicza, and he likes to be called by it. If you whisper in his ear, 'Hurrah, Ljubicza!' he'll dart away like the wind."

A-dAśn felt renewed life thrill through his veins. He lost no time in following his humble friend's directions. Finding the loose board, which seemed to be secured only by a rusty nail, he softly removed it, and squeezed through the opening. Making his way to the horse-shed, he soon picked out the white-tailed horse, swung himself on to its back and turned it around. Then, pressing his knees inward, he whispered, "Hurrah, Ljubicza!" The well-trained animal darted away through the garden.

At the sound of the galloping horse the guard sprang forward, drew his carbine to his shoulder, and, whispering, "St. George preserve him!" pulled the trigger. At the report all the sleepers leaped to their feet.

"What's up?"

"Prisoner escaped."

"After him!"

A score of Cossacks threw themselves on their horses and gave chase, discharging their pieces in the darkness as they rode. An occasional flash of lightning revealed the fugitive ahead of them, and stimulated the pursuers to renewed efforts. But the fleet stallion soon overtook the storm, and it proved a good travelling companion, wrapping the fugitive in its mantle of rain, and drowning with its thunder-claps the beating of his horse's hoofs. It took the side of the escaped prisoner, and he was not caught.