I went to the railway station, and from the time-table gathered that if I left Abo by rail at noon I could be in Petersburg an hour before noon on the morrow, or about four hours before the arrival of the steamer by which the silent girl and her companion were passengers.  This I decided upon doing, but before leaving I paid a visit to my friend, Boranski, who, to my surprise and delight, handed me my wallet with the Czar’s letter intact, saying that it had been found upon a German thief who had been arrested at the harbor on the previous night.  The fellow had, no doubt, stolen it from my pocket believing I carried my paper money in the flap.

“The affair of the English lady is a most extraordinary one,” remarked the Chief of Police, toying with his pen as he sat at his big table.  “She seems to have met this Englishman up at Tammerfors, or at some place further north, yet it is curious that her passport should be in order even though she fled so precipitately from Kajana.  There is a mystery connected with her disappearance from the wood-cutter’s hut that I confess I cannot fathom.”

“Neither can I,” I said.  “I know the man who is with her, and cannot help fearing that he is her bitterest enemy—­that he is acting in concert with the Baron.”

“Then why is he taking her to the capital—­beyond the jurisdiction of the Governor-General?”

“I am going straight to Petersburg to ascertain,” I said.  “I have only come to thank you for your kindness in this matter.  Truth to tell, I have been somewhat surprised that you should have interested yourself on my behalf,” I added, looking straight at the uniformed official.

“It was not on yours, but on hers,” he answered, somewhat enigmatically.  “I know something of the affair, but it was my duty as a man to help the poor girl to escape from that terrible place.  She has, I know, been unjustly condemned for the attempted assassination of the wife of a General—­condemned with a purpose, of course.  Such a thing is not unusual in Finland.”

“Abominable!” I cried.  “Oberg is a veritable fiend.”

But the man only shrugged his shoulders, saying—­

“The orders of his Excellency the Governor-General have to be obeyed, whatever they are.  We often regret, but we dare not refuse to carry them out.”

“Russian rule is a disgrace to our modern civilization,” I declared hotly.  “I have every sympathy with those who are fighting for freedom.”

“Ah, you are not alone in that,” he sighed, speaking in a low whisper, and glancing around.  “His Majesty would order reforms and ameliorate the condition of his people, if only it were possible.  But he, like his officials, are powerless.  Here we speak of the great uprising with bated breath, but we, alas! know that it must come one day—­very soon—­and Finland will be the first to endeavor to break her bonds—­and the Baron Oberg the first to fall.”

For nearly an hour I sat with him, surprised to find how, although his exterior was so harsh and uncouth, yet his heart really bled for the poor starving people he was so constantly forced to oppress.