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with me.' When they got into the parlour, he opened drawers and cupboards, and threw every pack of cards that he could find in a heap upon the floor. Now, put these devil's books into the fire,' cried he.

What! the new ones?' exclaimed the old housekeeper. Why not send them back to the makers?' To ruin others as they ruined him? No; burn them all I say.' When the fire was yet leaping and roaring over its painted prey, he bade her fetch the bricklayer.

'What! are you going to send for Mr Linch, then, after all? Won't that make Master Richard wild, sir, though, to be sure, not wilder than this;' and she looked at the glowing remnants on the hearth not without dismay.

'Do as I bid you!' cried John, stamping his foot. He was no longer cast down and nerveless now, and yet, in his vehemence and haste, he was as different from himself as he had been before. When the man left his work, and came into the house-Bring bricks and mortar,' cried John, and brick up that cellar-door.' He spoke so loud that for once Mrs Morden caught the sense of an observation not addressed to herself.

'But you will take out the wine first, surely, Master John?' remonstrated she.

"To ruin others as it ruined him?' cried John again. 'No; brick it up, I say?'

It seemed to Mrs Morden that she had got a new master altogether; quite a grand Turk of a man. She admired his edicts, and indeed had herself suggested them, and yet she feared for the scene that was likely to take place when the prodigal should return. This one had always been so patient and submissive, that the other was sure to resent these high-handed acts, though only intended for his good. Nevertheless, it was evident that John was in earnest, and meant to stick by what he had done. Perhaps the old housekeeper's reiterated assurances that Richard would return, made him half believe that he would do so, and this awakened his ire. If he did come back, the great 'Who-shall-be-master?' question would, without doubt, have to be tried on a very narrow basis. There were no longer to be two kings in Brentford. John sat down as usual to breakfast, but not to eat. His rasher of bacon, and even the toast in the rack, remained untasted; but he swallowed the tea as Richard was wont to do on the morning after a debauch; yet sometimes on its way to his mouth he would poise the cup in air, and listen. Now it was the bricklayer come with more bricks to complete his task; now it was the postman; now one of those begging folk who, since old Matthew's time, ventured occasionally into the grounds of Rosebank, to take their chance of a curse or a shilling from its reckless tenant: but it was never Richard. Presently, the country lass who helped Mrs Morden came to take away the breakfast things; John had generally left the house by that time, but this morning he shewed no signs of departure.

What are you bringing in these things for?' She had brought another breakfast service with her. 'For Mr Richard, sir.'

'To be sure; I had forgotten,' said he. His brother did not usually rise till noon, or even later, but all was wont to be prepared for him thus early.

'Mrs Morden said I had better lay it, in case,

sir.' She meant in case of Mr Richard's return; she had learned about his departure, of course, from Mrs Morden. Here, too, it seemed that John was curious to have the opinion of others respecting his brother's disappearance, for he began to talk to this girl on the subject. This was the more strange, as he had never said three words to her perhaps before: he was shy of addressing young women, even though they were his own servant-girls; while his brother was very affable, and chucked them under their chins.

'Did you hear Mr Richard leave the house last night?'

No, sir; but I heard him come in.'

There was a little pause, during which John slowly wound up his watch, which he had apparently forgotten to do on the previous night: a very rare omission on his part. It seemed as though nothing was to come to pass as usual with him that morning.

'And what time might that have been, Lucy?' 'It struck two, sir, a few minutes after I heard his latch-key in the door.'

'You look after Mr Richard's room, do you not? Well, have you ever known him to be out all night-the bed not slept in, I mean, as has happened now?'

'Never, Sir. I—I'

'What's the matter?'

'Nothing, sir, nothing; only I do fear as he has come to some mischief. He had always a kind word for a poor girl;' and she suddenly burst into tears. It was nothing more than an emotional outburst in one wholly unaccustomed to conceal her feelings, but it seemed to disconcert John excessively. He sighed heavily, and taking up a book, affected to be occupied with its contents till the girl's task was done and she had left the room. Perhaps he felt it hard, when he was trying to steel his heart against his brother, that such unearned sympathy should be bestowed upon scapegrace Richard. Presently, he went into the little hall, and took down his greatcoat.

'Are you going out, Master John?' inquired the old housekeeper timidly. "If Master Richard should return home in the meantime, what shall we do?' The last clicks of the trowel could be heard from where they stood, coming from the cellar-door.

'If any explanation of my conduct is required, I shall give it myself,' was the stern reply.

'And where would you be, sir?' 'Where would I be? Why, at the office, of course. Where should I be?'

'Well, I thought-and no offence, sir, but I think so still-that you should be taking that letter to Mitchell Street' (the street where the Thornes lived). John had got his greatcoat half-way on, and now it seemed he could get it no farther. He turned quite white, and sank down on the lobbychair, with one arm in its sleeve and one out. Lord bless ye, sir, don't take on so. It's a heartbreaking errand, no doubt, but somebody must tell her the news, and who so fit as you, being his only brother.'

John groaned. "You are quite right, dame,' answered he humbly. I will go at once.'

He rose and put on his coat, drew himself up like a soldier on parade, and with the face of one who had volunteered for a Forlorn-hope, grave, stern, and resolute, went out upon his errand.

THE BEST OF HUSBANDS.

CHAPTER XII.-WHAT THE THORNES THOUGHT

OF IT.

John's friends in Mitchell Street were early risers like himself, and when he arrived there they had already breakfasted. Maggie was below-stairs, making the housekeeping arrangements for the day, but he found the engraver hard at work in the sitting-room.

'Ah, John, I am right glad to see you; you are quite a stranger here,' was his cordial greeting. But what has happened?' He had taken his microscope from the eye which it obscured, and now regarded his visitor attentively. I am afraid that it is not good news which has brought you.' 'No; it is bad news.'

'About Richard, I suppose?' said the old man dryly.

What! have you heard, then, Mr Thorne ?' 'I have heard nothing; but nothing will surprise me.' The old man got up and carefully closed the door. 'Let us spare her if we can. What is it?'

John put into his hand his brother's letter without a word.

This is all a blind,' observed the engraver quietly, when he had read it. It is too good news to be true. Richard will never leave Hilton.'

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'But why should he have written that letter?' 'I am not at the back of Richard's motives, thank Heaven!' answered the engraver bitterly. 'But he has probably some bad end in view. I shall be far from here when you get this, he says: that is a melodramatic touch which he has heard at the theatre. He is probably no farther, at this moment, than we are from the slums.'

'Don't talk like that, Thorne; I can't bear it. Suppose he should be-have made away with himself, for instance? Mind, I don't say it is probable, but I believe it possible.'

Then you will believe anything. However, since you think it worth while-though, for my part, I expect he is at home by this time-let us discuss the matter. Had he money in his pocket?' John hesitated a moment, then answered: Yes; he had a hundred pounds. I gave him a cheque on our London bank for that amount last night."

'Then, if that cheque is not changed within twenty-four hours, I will believe anything you please. A man like Richard Milbank does not try the other world while he has money to spend in this one.'

"You are very hard upon Richard.'

'Sir, I have an only daughter,' was the cold reply. However, let that pass. If you wish to have my advice, without any comments, you shall have it. When did you see your brother last ?'

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About three o'clock this morning. I waited up for him to remonstrate upon certain matters: his reckless expenditure, and the fatal effect it is having upon the business. We had no quarrel; but I spoke out. The time had come for it.'

167

'So I should think,' was the quiet rejoinder. 'Well, he was offended, doubtless-though not so much so as to prevent him taking your money ;and now he intends to play upon your feelings by a disappearance-until he wants help again. He took everything with him he could lay his hands upon, I suppose?'

'He took nothing-nothing but the clothes he stood up in.'

'Indeed.' The engraver looked less cynical and more serious.

John watched him with grave attention: if the opinions of Mrs Morden and her 'help' had had an interest for him, it was no wonder he was curious to hear Herbert Thorne's view of matters. 'And you say you had no tiff, John; he did not fling himself out of the house in a rage?' 'Certainly not. He left it a few minutes after we parted for the night; and I found this note awaiting me at breakfast.'

'What note?'

It was Maggie's voice, distinct, authoritative, clear, as she was wont to speak to all but her lover. Her gentle hand had opened the door, her soft step had entered the room, without disturbing the two men the open letter was on the table, and her quick eye was already fixed upon it. "That is Richard's hand,' cried she.

'Yes, Maggie. You must not be frightened,' began her father; but she had already seized the note, and made herself acquainted with its contents.

'What does it mean?' asked she, looking nervously from one to the other. Richard gone away, without a word, without a line to me! I don't believe it.'

Just what I said,' observed the engraver dryly. 'The handwriting is his, but not the words,' continued she. There is some trickery in this.'

'Nothing more likely,' was the engraver's comment: 'but you don't suspect our friend here of tricking you, I suppose, Maggie?'

'Indeed, not,' answered she, holding out her hand, with a faint smile. Forgive me, John. I am sure that this has distressed you to the core. If anything should go amiss with Richard, there is one man at least whom it would pain, I know-his brother.'

It pained him so-or so it seemed, even to think of such mischance-that John could find no words to answer her. He stood stock-still, where he had risen, her hand held out to him in vain, though his eyes devoured her.

'Good Heavens!' cried she, looking at him anxiously, do you really think that this was written in earnest? That Richard meant that'

She gasped for breath; then hurried frantically on: You knew him, loved him; blameless yourself, were tender to his faults. Tell me the truth, John; you are concealing something. I can bear the worst; and he-my father yonder '-this with a crooked smile that became her sadly'would welcome it. Is Richard dead?' She had suddenly fallen on her knees at the young man's feet, her face whiter than milk, her long black hair shaken loose about her shoulders. Is he dead, is he dead?' sobbed she.

John shook his head; his pale lips parted twice, but no sound came. To see her appealing to him as to one she trusted, confident of his help and truth, yet all for another's sake, overpowered him quite.

'How can he be dead, lass,' observed the engraver kindly, 'when he tells us in his own hand that he is gone away?'

'It is to you I speak, John: answer me, for you know the truth.'

'I only know what is there, Maggie,' returned John slowly, and pointing to the letter. If you ask what is become of Richard, I cannot tell you; if you ask my opinion as to whether he has really gone away-I think he has.'

'There were reasons, you see, my girl,' put in the engraver, more anxious now to comfort Maggie than to establish his own theory, 'why Richard should have left the town. His affairs were in evil plight; there is little doubt that he owes money; and though John here has done his best'

'He has not left the town,' interrupted Maggie excitedly; 'he would never go without taking leave of me; I am sure of it. I will stake my life upon it!'

"It is like enough you are right, lass. Richard may have returned home by this time, who knows? John and I will go back now and see.' 'And I will go with you,' said Maggie resolutely.

'Not to Rosebank,' exclaimed John suddenly, the remembrance, doubtless, of his high-handed acts that morning flashing upon him. If she should hear there of the card-burning, or of the cellardoor being bricked up, would she not accuse him of harshness towards her lost Richard?

'Yes, John, to Rosebank,' answered she calmly. 'Why not? If he is there, that is my place; if he has gone elsewhere, I will follow him.' She moved towards the door, then stopped, and turned upon them. 'Don't imagine that I will ever give him up. If this is a trick upon me, it will

not serve.'

'A trick!' groaned John. But she had already left the room. 'Does she think I could stab her in joke?'

No, no; she spoke to me, not to you at all,' said Thorne bitterly. 'She thinks that since I have tried fair means in vain to persuade her to break with Richard, that I am now trying foul. It seems strange to you, no doubt, but then you have not a daughter who clung to you for two-andtwenty years, and cast you off in a moment for What! ready already, lass? Let us go,

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then.'

Maggie had been about half a minute in fleeing up-stairs and back again, and had contrived to put bonnet and shawl on, on the return journey. When love demands it, a woman can be quick, even over her toilet.

The three went out together, the father and daughter arm-in-arm, and John taking his place on the side remote from Maggie. He was never forward to be near her. They had not gone far, when Thorne whispered in his ear: There goes a man, who, if he would, could tell us as well as any where your brother is.'

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John, being deep in thought, looked up with a quick start, almost of alarm. 'What man?'

'Dennis Blake. See! he has caught sight of us, and wishes to avoid a meeting. For my part, I don't like to be seen speaking to such a fellow, else he is very likely to know something.'

Maggie's quick ear, sharpened by anxiety, overheard this. If you are ashamed to speak with

anybody about Richard, I am not,' said she, withdrawing her hand from her father's arm. But another hand was laid upon her wrist, as she was about to hurry after Blake's retreating figure.

'No, Maggie,' said John firmly; 'you shall not speak to that man, neither now nor ever; I will do it.' And off he started with rapid strides.

Since, without, running, it was clear that his pursuer could not be evaded, Blake slackened his pace, and suffered John to come up with him. His face, which the latter, of course, since he was behind him, could not see, was a study of the baser emotions-dislike, apprehension, and duplicity. Lavater would have said: "That man is a scoundrel, but he possesses a soul, for he has a secret on it.'

His shifty eyes seemed to grow smaller as John came up with him, or perhaps it was that his frowning brow hid them more and more.

'Ha! is that you, Mr Milbank? Good-day to you;' and he smiled as a dog does, shewing his teeth.

'Good-day. I have something to say to you, Mr Blake. An unpleasant affair has happened: my brother Richard is missing.'

Missing?' His look of surprise was perfect : if it was not genuine, Dennis Blake had another talent in him besides that of playing short whist. He was an actor spoiled.

'Yes; he left home about two o'clock this morning, with the intention of calling upon you.'

Here both men's faces were well worth looking at: his who put the query was searching, resolute, menacing, and even desperate-its colour a dead white. The expression of the other was variable: flying clouds of doubt obscured it; its hue changed from red to white, from white to red, as quickly as the colours in a kaleidoscope. I have not seen your brother since the day before yesterday-not since I saw you,' said he at last.

John Milbank drew a long deep breath; the relief of finding that Richard had not discovered that the thousand-pound bill had been already honoured was doubtless intense.

'And you never heard him express any intention of leaving home?' This in the tone with which a counsel puts his last question-always a comparatively unimportant one-to a witness who has done his cause good service.

'Well, I can't say that,' was the unexpected reply. I have heard him say he was sick and tired of Hilton, but that, of course, he was bound by circumstances to remain here.'

"Then, if he had money in his pocket, and was no longer bound, you think it not unlikely my brother might have taken such a step?'

John spoke with great calmness-not carelessly, yet with all his usual deliberation, but there was an eagerness in his eyes which he could not quench.

'Such a step as to leave Hilton?' answered Blake quietly. I should think nothing was more probable. I don't say, however, but that he may turn up again pretty soon, you know. Let us hope he may.'

Thank you.'

It was with quite a friendly nod that John returned to his companions, for in truth the person who had given him most comfort that morning

and never had he needed it more-had been Mr Dennis Blake.

'Well, man, what news?' cried Thorne, who by this time was but a few paces distant.

LIGHTS AT SEA.

'No news: Blake has not seen Richard since yesterday.'

'John,' said Maggie solemnly, 'I watched that man's face while he was talking to you, and I am sure he was not speaking truth.'

It is possible, returned John quietly. Time will shew.'

LIGHTS AT SEA.

169

the red is seen alone, still in motion. If the channel is intricate, we may again see the two lights together; or perhaps lose sight of both for a short time, and then see one of them again. It is plain that one is on each side of a ship, and that the appearances and disappearances are due to the vessel turning in her course. In some cases there will be seen a white light between the two coloured ones, but above them, obviously on the mast, always visible when either of the coloured lights is visible, but disappearing when they both disappear. In a few instances we may notice two such white lights in company with a pair of coloured lights. If we are near a roadstead such as Yarmouth Roads or the Downs, we shall notice some exceedingly bright white lights, having no coloured ones near them, evidently stationary: they are on board ships at anchor; and the two white lights in the distance, one a little over the other, which never disappear, and move so slowly that they hardly seem to move at all, indicate that a fishing-boat is at her night's work, engaged in drift-net fishing. No boat is allowed to anchor, if it can possibly be avoided, where such fishing is going on, and all vessels engaged in it have to carry two bright white lights in circular lanterns at their mastheads. This is provided for by a clause in the Sea-fisheries' Act, but is only applicable to French and English fishing-vessels. All ships at anchor have to exhibit, in a circular lantern, a uniform, unbroken white light, visible three miles in any direction on a favourable night. In inquiries into the causes of such accidents as the well remembered Northfleet disaster, the first points investigated are: Did the ship at anchor have her anchorlight burning brightly? Was it uniform? Was it unobstructed? If these questions can be answered clearly in the affirmative, the stationary ship is at once cleared of blame.

THAT collisions at sea are a fruitful cause of disaster, is amply testified by the annual record of wrecks; and the means taken to prevent what are obviously among the most preventable dangers, of the deep, become yearly of more importance as oceantraffic increases. Roughly speaking, about one-fourth of the casualties near the shores of the United Kingdom are due to collisions; and of this number, nearly three-fourths, as might be expected, occur at night. The rules to be observed by ships meeting at sea have been the subject of international negotiation; and upwards of thirty governments, including those of all the important maritime nations, have agreed to use a common code. One of the most important of these rules applies to the obvious danger occasioned by two ships sailing in opposite directions, and in a line with each other. In this case, each is supposed to steer so as to allow the other to pass on the left or port side. Even this simple regulation has, however, in some cases, been the occasion of the danger it is intended to avert; and it has been necessary for the Board of Tradethe authority in all such matters-to explain that it only applies to ships meeting in the same, or nearly in the same line with each other. It has been the case that vessels sailing in opposite directions, but in parallel courses, and which would have passed safely on the right side of each other, have, by altering their course, with a view to passing on the left, come into collision. It is not our All vessels in motion have to carry coloured intention to go into the technical details of the lights-a red one on the port, and a green one on 'rule of the road' at sea; its main principles are the starboard side-of such character as to be (in addition to that we have described)—that it is visible at a distance of two miles on a dark and the duty of steamers to give way to sailing-ships; clear night. The lanterns in which they are that ships sailing in most favourable circumstances carried are usually of such a shape that a horiwith regard to the wind, have to give way to others zontal section is something like a quarter of a less favoured; and that if one ship is overtaking circle, the curved side being the coloured glass another, it is the duty of the former to keep clear lens. There is but little trouble about the red of the latter. It follows from this, that vessels light, but it is found in practice somewhat difficult should, at night, display such signals as to enable to get a strong green light; the colour is often any moving ship to know of any other ship which undecided, and the light feeble. The Board of it may come near, whether the latter is at anchor or Trade insists upon the lanterns and the burners in motion, and if in motion, whether under sail within them being of regulation sizes. When or steam. It is also essential that it should be paraffine is used, a smaller wick is allowed than indicated whether the two ships are moving in the for other oil; but, in consequence of the intense same straight line, and whether they are proceed-heat caused by the former endangering the lenses, ing in the same or in opposite directions. The regulations as to lights to be exhibited by ships at sea are so framed as to secure that every vessel shall furnish this information to all others which may come near her.

On a dark but clear night, at any point of the coast near a much frequented highway of the sea, may be noticed no less than five distinct arrangements of lights on board ships. The observer is probably struck at first by the coloured lights, which are at once seen to be in motion, and are soon noticed to be in pairs. Perhaps a green light is seen first moving slowly in the distance; next, for a few seconds, a red one is seen in company with it; and then the green light disappears, and

a full-sized lantern is rigidly insisted on. Every side-lamp is also required to have a metal reflector. The side-lights have to be so placed that each is visible to any one approaching its side of the ship, and travelling either in the opposite direction, or at right angles to the ship's course, or between the two. Each light should, according to the regulations, be visible through an arc of ten points of the compass, that is, through an angle of one hundred and twelve and a half degrees. This is managed in each case by the use of a screen, consisting of a flat piece of board placed vertically against the lantern and in the direction of the ship's length. The rays of light are, by means of this, prevented from crossing the line

of the vessel's course to any appreciable extent; and the red and green lights can only be seen both at once from a ship travelling in a direction exactly opposite, and in danger of collision. The shape of the lantern is a sufficient security that the lights are not visible behind the ship. Considerable care is necessary in fixing the side-lights in such a position that they may not be obscured by sails, and that they may invariably retain their proper position. Seamen are proverbially the most careless of mankind; but it will hardly be believed that many of them are careful in the proper management of their lights, not to prevent accident, so much as to secure that, if culpably run down by another ship, they may get compensation, of which there is no chance unless they can prove that they were carrying their proper lights.

fifteen minutes, and a bright white light flashed at frequent intervals for about a minute at a time. It is also provided, that if distress-signals are used improperly, the person responsible is liable to pay compensation for any labour, risk, or loss caused to any one who responds to the supposed call for assistance. It will thus be seen that, so far as public authorities are concerned, the improved system of signals at sea puts navigation on a safe footing. It has, however, to be recollected that all skill may be baffled by fogs; and what falls upon us as a more painful consideration is that nothing can avert disaster where there is an imperfect outlook. In this, as in railway transit, the terrible thing to be dreaded is negligence of all the ordinary precautions.

IN DANGER.

IN FOUR CHAPTERS. CHAPTER II.

There

A steamer is distinguished from a sailing-ship by the fact of her carrying, in addition to the green and red side-lights, a white light at her mast-head, the lantern being so constructed that the light is not KIZIL-GATCH was but a poor place, only a hamlet visible behind. Steamers engaged in towing other of five-and-thirty squalid huts, with the painted vessels have to give notice of the additional com-konak' of some Mussulman landed proprietor plication thus caused by carrying two white lights peeping here and there through the screen of at the mast-head. It will thus be seen that every fruit-trees that girdled the settlement. ship at sea is bound to declare whether she is was a mosque, adorned with white marble and stationary, or in what direction she is going, also leaf-gold by the pious liberality of Mohammedan whether she is under sail or steam. In foggy worthies long dead, but the polished floor of which weather, all that is contemplated by existing regu- was now covered by ragged and filthy matting; lations is, that each ship shall give information on while the Mollah, who represented dean and canons, the first and third of these points; to provide for was a bronzed and brawny tatterdemalion, comthe second would require a more elaborate arrange-pared with whom Friar Tuck was a respectable ment of signals than is at present used. The bell ecclesiastic, and whom I shrewdly suspect to be is in every ship the fog-signal used when at anchor; innocent of any schooling at the colleges of Bagdad, it is supposed to be rung every five minutes. Bokhara, or Damascus. But there was a pretty Steamers in motion in a fog make their presence minaret, slender, white, and tipped with gold, up known by means of a steam-whistle; and sailing- which a blinking old tailor in a green turban and ships are under the same circumstances distin-horn-rimmed spectacles used pantingly to climb by guished by the use of a fog-horn, each of which signals is to be sounded at intervals of not more than five minutes. Very often the fog-horn is attached to a pair of bellows.

the steep corkscrew staircase, to chant forth in his quavering voice, four times a day, the Moslem's summons to prayer. That old Hadji was beadle, clerk, and verger to the mosque, where the villagers' attendance was by no means regular, although ninetenths of our neighbours were followers of the Prophet.

We have hitherto spoken only of signals intended to avert danger; the signals of distress to be used by ships at sea are also the subject of legislation. The question of distress-signals has been much Then there was a Russo-Greek church, of painted discussed since the Northfleet disaster, and they wood, with copper dome, and walls hung with tastewere the subject of legislation during the last session less pictures of the Panagia, before which twinkled of parliament. The alleged defect in the old feeble lamps fed with the naphtha that, in those arrangements was, that some of the signals of dis-regions, is often to be had for the gathering, floating, tress might be mistaken for the signal for a pilot, as at certain seasons it does, on the waves of the and hence would very likely not attract help in Caspian. Every priest, however, was well supplied time to be of any service. One of the distress-with gorgeous vestments, and flashed forth in green signals which has always been and is now used, is the well-known' minute-gun at sea.' It is a most effective way of calling for assistance; but it is sometimes unfortunately the case that the gun provided for the purpose is made a receptacle for all sorts of odds and ends, even, as has been recently stated, for the swabs used in washing the deck; the powder has perhaps made as many voyages as the ship, and is damp and useless; and so, when the gun is wanted, it cannot be fired. Besides the minutegun, the new act prescribes as signals of distress rockets or shells of any colour or description fired one at a time at short intervals; and also flames on the ship such as would be produced by a burning tar-barrel. The signals for pilots prescribed for the sake of distinction, in order that they may not be mistaken for danger-signals, are, a blue light every

and gold, in white, violet, and crimson; while on occasions of high festival the altar was a blaze of flaring flambeaux, and clouds of smoking incense almost hid the scarlet-capped acolytes and the kneeling papas and his subordinate 'popes' and deacons from the sight of the congregation, which was indeed a scanty one, save when the stockaded fort was tenanted by a garrison of the flat-capped Muscovite soldiery. There was also a small synagogue, where a score or so of bearded Jews collected on the Sabbath. What was called the Bazaar comprised within its few rotten planks all the shops of the place; but it often happened that wandering traders opened their packs and held a sort of irregular fair outside the village, the camels being tethered around in a ring, and craning forth their snaky necks as if to judge of the quality of the

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