as soon as I wasable I rose and commenced to feel the dimensions of my strangeapartment.
It was not large, I found, but its four bare stone walls, through whichwater oozed in places, the large iron ring fixed into the masonry, andthe strong iron-bound door, quickly apprised me of my position.
I was in prison.
Awe-struck at finding myself under arrest, I sank upon the narrow stoneshelf which served as chair, and tried to recollect the events of thepast few hours. I knew nothing, save that I had been drugged, and bysome means conveyed there. What was my crime? Why had I been arrested?I wondered.
Through the roof of the cell came a tiny glimmer of light, not halfsufficient to enable me to discern anything, though it was evident fromthis, as well as from the sodden dampness of the walls, that my place ofconfinement was underground.
The horrors of that Dantean dungeon were indescribable. Before I hadlodged at the expense of the Russian Government a few days, the fearfulsuspense and agony of mind had already added years to my age.
As I sat, desponding and forlorn, I experienced for the first time,regret that I had ever known Vera Seroff. All my good resolutions notto prejudge her went to the winds, and I found myself regretting fromthe bottom of my heart that I, who had passed unscathed through many amad infatuation, had permitted myself to become so enamoured andfascinated by her irresistible charms.
Fool that I was to be so blind to her false assumption of injuredinnocence, to believe that she ever entertained any affection for me, orto imagine that by undertaking a journey across the continent I couldrender her a service.
And that crotchety old bore, Hertzen. Surely I must have been wilfullyundiscerning not to have detected a closer tie between them. No doubtshe was his wife, or, yet more probable--no relation whatever.
I ground my teeth and paced the slimy stone floor in anger as I thoughthow ingeniously I had been tricked; how from the beginning I had been anunresisting dupe in the hands of a heartless, designing woman. She mustindeed be sadly wanting in womanly love and tenderness to be a party tothis vile plot, whatever its object might be. Doubtless she knew of myarrest, and from her place of safety laughed with satisfaction as shereflected upon her own cleverness.
These and a thousand other thoughts surged through my brain as I walkedto and fro in hopeless dejection. Alone, heart-broken at realising myidol shattered, that she whom I believed immaculate and loved so dearlywas base and false, I felt utterly indifferent to what my fate might be,only desiring not to be kept in that horrible suspense, but to know theworst.
If it were death, what would it matter? Though young, I had seen theworld, tasted of its pleasures, and grown _blase_. The sun of myexistence was the hope of making Vera my wife, yet now it was blottedout I cared no longer to live, for my life in future would be one ofblank despair.
After a few hours I heard a rattling in the lock, a jingle of keys, andthe door opened, revealing the brawny form of a man bearing a lantern.It was my jailer.
He held in his hand a basin containing soup and some black bread, whichhe placed upon the floor without deigning to bestow a word upon me.
As he turned to leave I rose and, clutching his arm, addressed him inFrench.
Turning the light full upon my face, he took a couple of paces backward,fearing perhaps that I was about to attack him.
"Why am I here?" I asked. "Tell me, what is the crime I am accusedof?"
He regarded me for a moment in surprise, answering:
"How should I know?"
"But surely you are aware who brought me here?"
"The _gorodovoi_, I suppose," he grunted savagely.
"And what is this detestable place called?" I asked.
"The Fortress; the prison from which no man has ever been known toescape."
"Are its bolts and bars so strong?"
"Yes, and there is no way out for convicts unless they swim the Neva,"the man replied, grinning with satisfaction.
"Are you not aware of my crime?" I asked, persuasively.
"No, I know nothing about it. My business is not with the crime butwith the criminal," he growled.
"I am an Englishman--a foreigner--and cannot be supposed to know yourlaws. Is this what you term justice in Russia--to imprison a manwithout trial?"
"You have had your trial and been condemned. In the sentence passedupon you by the Court you were told the crime for which you mustsuffer."
"Condemned!" I cried. "Condemned for what? Why, I have had no trial.I have never been before the Court!"
He turned from me, and as he did so, muttered:
"Ah! just what I thought--mad. These cells below the river alwaysaffect their brains."
In another moment the key turned heavily in the lock, the bolts shotinto their sockets, and I was again alone.
Was I mad, as the turnkey believed? I was almost convinced I must be,the events of the past few hours seemed so unreal--like the impressionof some horrible dream.
I had been sentenced, the jailer said. Sentenced for what? I hadwronged no man on earth that I was aware of, neither had I done an evilaction willingly. What was my offence, and what was my sentence?
For days I lived with this one thought, crushed by its terrible weight,frozen by its ghastly presence. Not days, but years ago it seemed,since I was a man like any other, with an intellect young and fresh,losing itself in a pleasant world of fantasy, with buoyant hopes for thefuture; an existence full of life and light, gaiety, and unalloyedhappiness, with naught to trouble me save the realisation of my fonddream of marrying Vera and dwelling with her in perfect felicity.Joyous and free had been my thoughts, therefore I was free also.
Alas! those aerial castles, those blissful illusions, had been cruellydispelled, for I was free no longer.
I was a criminal.
CHAPTER TWELVE.
A SUBTERRANEAN DRAMA.
With my wrists in bonds of iron, and my soul fettered by one idea--horrible, implacable--the days passed: I kept no count of them.
Whilst the glimmer of daylight shone through the chink above I spent thetime sitting engrossed in my own sad thoughts, or pacing the narrow cellfor exercise. When it had faded I cast myself, restless and nervous,upon the heap of evil-smelling straw that served as bed, waitingpatiently for the reappearance of the streak of grey light.
Those hours of awful silence and suspense I shall never forget.
Do what I might a terrible thought, a deep-rooted conviction, was everwith me, like a spectre haunting me face to face, frustrating everyendeavour to close my eyes--it was that by Vera's instrumentality I hadbeen arrested and incarcerated in that foul dungeon.
The jailer, when he brought my daily ration of food, seldom spoke; buton one occasion I asked him:
"What is my sentence?"
"You know better than I," he growled. "Indeed, I do not. Tell me; isit death?"
"No; the death sentence has been abolished by order of the Czar.Criminals are tortured to death instead of being killed instantaneouslyby hanging."
"And is this the commencement of my torture?" I asked, glancing roundthe glistening walls, that looked black and unwholesome in theflickering lamplight.
"You may call it so, if you like," he replied.
"Many prisoners would no doubt prefer the death sentence being passedupon them--but that the law now forbids."
"Shall I never leave this horrible place?" I asked.
"Shall I never again see the blessed light of day?"
"Yes," he muttered, ominously, "you will leave here--some day--never toreturn."
I said no more. I knew he meant that when I left the prison I should bedead.
_Torture till death_! This, then, was my sentence! The words werecontinually passing through my brain, attacking me whilst waking, andintruding themselves upon my spasmodic attempts to sleep; appearing inmy dreams in all their hideousness.
Even when I awakened to realise the terrible reality that surrounded me,those four bare walls, coarse clothes, straw
pallet, and the monotonoustramp of the sentry in the corridor outside my door, the words rang acontinuous, demoniacal chorus in my ears. _Torture till death_!
In my solitary confinement I naturally began to seek some means by whichto occupy attention and divert my mind from the unjust and horriblesentence.
One matter interested me in a dreamy, indifferent way. It was theinscriptions that had been traced upon the damp walls of my gloomy cell,presumably by former occupants.
Having been in darkness so long, I had developed an acute sensitivenessin the tips of my fingers, almost in the same manner as the blind; andfor recreation I took to groping about, feeling the indentations uponthe stone, and trying to sketch their appearance mentally.
Hours--nay, days--I spent in this grim but interesting occupation,studying carefully the initials, dates, and other inscriptions, andafter I had formed a correct picture in my imagination, I would sitdown, wondering by whose hand those letters had been graven;