“Your Excellency is welcome to all the poor fare he has.  He gives up his bed in the room yonder to the lady, so that she may rest.  He is honored by your Excellency’s presence.”

And while he was making this explanation the herculean wood-cutter in the red shirt stirred the red embers whereon a big pot was simmering, and sending forth an appetizing odor, and in five minutes we were all three sitting down to a stew of capercailzie, with a foaming light beer as a fitting beverage.  We finished the dish with such lightning rapidity that our host boiled us a number of eggs, which, I fear, denuded his larder.

The place was a poor one of two low rooms, built of rough log-pines, with double windows for the winter and a high brick stove.  Cleanliness was not exactly its characteristic, nevertheless we all passed a very comfortable hour, and received a warm welcome from the lonely old fellow who passed his life so far beyond European civilization, and whose house, he told us, was often snowed up and cut off from all the world for three or four months at a time.

After we had finished our meal, I asked the sturdy old fellow for a pencil, but the nearest thing he possessed was a stick of thick charcoal, and with that it was surely difficult to communicate with our fair companion.  Therefore she rose, gave me her hand, bowed smilingly, and then passed into the inner room and closed the door.

The old wood-cutter gave us some coarse tobacco, and after smoking and chatting for an hour we threw ourselves wearily upon the wooden benches and slept soundly.

Suddenly, however, at early dawn, we were startled by a loud banging at the door, the clattering of hoofs, and authoritative shouts in Russian.  The old wood-cutter sprang up, and looking through a chink in the heavy shutters turned to us with blanched face, whispering breathlessly—­

“The police!  What can they want of me?”

“Open!” shouted the horsemen outside.  “Open in the name of his Majesty!”

Felix and I sprang up facing each other.

“We are entrapped!”

In an instant our guide Felix made a dash for the door of the inner room where Elma had retired, but next second he reappeared, gasping in Russian—­

“Excellency!  Why, the door is open!  The lady has gone!”

“Gone!” I cried, dismayed, rushing into the little room, where I found the truckle couch empty, and the door leading outside wide open.  She had actually disappeared!

The police again battered at the opposite door, threatening loudly to break it in if it were not opened at once, whereupon the old wood-cutter drew the bolt and admitted them.  Two big, hulking fellows in heavy riding-coats and swords strode in, while two others remained mounted outside, holding the horses.

“Your names?” demanded one of the fellows, glancing at us as we stood together in expectation.

Our host told them his name, and asked why they wished to enter.