'Farewell, Nikola'. Boothby Guy

who, seeing their country drifting in a wrong direction, have taken it into their heads to try and remedy matters by drastic measures. Finding their efforts hopeless, their properties confiscated, and they themselves in danger of death, or exile, which is worse, they have fled from Russia. Some of them, the richest, manage to get to England, some come to Venice, but knowing that the Italian police will turn them out sans cérémonie if they discover them, they are compelled to remain in hiding until they are in a position to proceed elsewhere."

      "And you help them?" asked Miss Trevor in a strange voice, as if his answer were a foregone conclusion.

      "What makes you think that?" Nikola inquired.

      "Because the doorkeeper knew you, and you spoke so kindly to him."

      "The poor fellow has a son," Nikola replied; "a hot-headed young rascal who has got into trouble in Moscow. If he is caught he will without doubt go to Siberia for the rest of his life. But he will not be caught."

      Once more Miss Trevor spoke as if with authority, and in the same hushed voice.

      "You have saved him?"

      "He has been saved," Nikola replied. "He left for America this morning. The old fellow was merely expressing to me the gratification he felt at having got him out of such a difficulty. Now, here is our gondola. Let us get into it. We still have much to see, and time is not standing still with us."

      Once more we took our places, and once more the gondola proceeded on its way. To furnish you with a complete résumé of all we saw would take too long, and would occupy too great a space. Let it suffice that we visited places, the mere existence of which I had never heard of before.

      One thing impressed me throughout. Wherever we went Nikola was known, and not only known, but feared and respected. His face was a key that opened every lock, and in his company the ladies were as safe, in the roughest parts of Venice, as if they had been surrounded by a troop of soldiery. When we had seen all that he was able to show us it was nearly midnight, and time for us to be getting back to our hotel.

      "I trust I have not tired you?" he said, as the ladies took their places in the gondola for the last time.

      "Not in the least," both answered at once, and I fancy my wife spoke not only for herself but also for Miss Trevor when she continued, "we have spent a most delightful evening."

      "You must not praise the performance until the epilogue is spoken," Nikola answered. "I have still one more item on my programme."

      As he said this the gondola drew up at some steps, where a solitary figure was standing, apparently waiting for us. He wore a cloak and carried a somewhat bulky object in his hand. As soon as the boat came alongside Nikola sprang out and approached him. To our surprise he helped him into the gondola and placed him in the stern.

      "To-night, Luigi," he said, "you must sing your best for the honour of the city."

      The young man replied in an undertone, and then the gondola passed down a by-street and a moment later we were back in the Grand Canal. There was not a breath of air, and the moon shone full and clear upon the placid water. Never had Venice appeared more beautiful. Away to the right was the piazza, with the Cathedral of Saint Mark; on our left were the shadows of the islands. The silence of Venice, and there is no silence in the world like it, lay upon everything. The only sound to be heard was the dripping of the water from the gondolier's oar as it rose and fell in rhythmic motion. Then the musician drew his fingers across the strings of his guitar, and after a little prelude commenced to sing. The song he had chosen was the Salve d'amora from Faust, surely one of the most delightful melodies that has ever occurred to the brain of a musician. Before he had sung a dozen bars we were entranced. Though not a strong tenor his voice was one of the most perfect I have ever heard. It was of the purest quality, so rich and sweet that the greatest connoisseur could not tire of it. The beauty of the evening, the silence of the lagoon, and the perfectness of the surroundings, helped it to appeal to us as no music had ever done before. It was a significant proof of the effect produced upon us, that when he ceased not one of us spoke for some moments. Our hearts were too full for words. By the time we had recovered ourselves the gondola had drawn up at the steps of the hotel, and we had disembarked. The Duke and I desired to reward the musician; Nikola however begged us to do nothing of the kind.

      "He sings to-night to please me," he said. "It would hurt him beyond words were you to offer him any other reward."

      After that there was nothing more to be said, except to thank him in the best Italian we could muster for the treat he had given us.

      "Why on earth does he not try his fortune upon the stage?" asked my wife, when we had disembarked from the gondola and had assembled on the steps. "With such a voice he might achieve a European reputation."

      "Alas," answered Nikola, "he will never do that. Did you notice his infirmity?"

      Phyllis replied that she had not observed anything extraordinary about him.

      "The poor fellow is blind," Nikola answered very quietly. "He is a singing-bird shut up always in the dark. And now, good-night. I have trespassed too long upon your time already."

      He bowed low to the ladies, shook hands with the Duke and myself, and then, before we had time to thank him for the delightful evening he had given us, was in his gondola once more and out in mid-stream. We watched him until he had disappeared in the direction of the Rio del Consiglio, after we entered the hotel and made our way to our own sitting-room.

      "I cannot say when I have enjoyed myself so much," said my wife, as we stood talking together before bidding each other good-night.

      "It has been delightful," said Glenbarth, whose little attack of jealousy seemed to have quite left him. "Have you enjoyed it, Hatteras?"

      I said something in reply, I cannot remember what, but I recollect that, as I did so, I glanced at Miss Trevor's face. It was still very pale, but her eyes shone with extraordinary brilliance.

      "I hope you have had a pleasant evening," I said to her a few moments later, when we were alone together.

      "Yes, I think I can say that I have," she answered, with a far-away look upon her face. "The music was exquisite. The thought of it haunts me still."

      Then, having bade me good-night, she went off with my wife, leaving me to attempt to understand why she had replied as she had done.

      "And what do you think of it, my friend?" I inquired of Glenbarth, when we had taken our cigars out into the balcony.

      "I am extremely glad we went," he returned quickly. "There can be no doubt that you were right when you said that it would show us Nikola's character in a new light. Did you notice with what respect he was treated by everybody we met, and how anxious they were not to run the risk of offending him?"

      "Of course I noticed it, and you may be sure I drew my own conclusions from it," I replied.

      "And those conclusions were?"

      "That Nikola's character is even more inexplicable than before."

      After that we smoked in silence for some time. At last I rose and tossed what remained of my cigar over the rails into the dark waters below.

      "It is getting late," I said. "Don't you think we had better bid each other good-night?"

      "Perhaps we had, and yet I don't feel a bit tired."

      "Are you quite sure that you have had a pleasant day?"

      "Quite sure," he said, with a laugh. "The only thing I regret is having heard that wretched story this morning. Do you recall the gusto with which Nikola related it?"

      I replied in the affirmative, and asked him his reason for referring to it now.

      "Because I could not help thinking of it this evening, when his voice was so pleasant and his manner so kind. When I picture him going back to that house to-night, to that dreadful room, to sleep alone in that great building, it fairly makes me shudder. Good-night, old fellow. You have treated me royally to-day; I could scarcely have had more sensations compressed into my waking hours if I'd been a king."

      CHAPTER IV

      After