Argosy, Vol. 1 (December 9, 1882) — page 383: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

“Ah, poor boy!” Dorothy had been drinking in these tidings with eagerness. ‘‘ Poor, dear Tom. Oh, you must meet him, you must know him, brave friend. He will take you to his heart and bless you for all your courage and battles for my sake; and that moment will be the proudest, happiest of our lives. Will it not, comrade? ” For the moment the prince was silent. “ It will be a sweet moment,” he said softly, “ yet a sad one, my little heroine. I welcome it, yet I fear it.” Dorothy opened her eyes. “ Something troubles you,” she said. The prince bowed humbly. “Tell me then,” she persisted. ‘Come; make it all plain to me.” Bardoff drew a deep breath, then produced a letter. “I have had tidings,” he said. “And they are ill tidings,” she broke in; “and while mine were sweet and you shared them, now that yours are bitter, let me share yours likewise.” “ Thank you,” said the prince gratefully. “ But in order to understand it all, it is necessary that I explain matters which may seem inexplicable to you. I am a Russian; you are an American. Our traditions, our governmental principles, and our very rules of action lie far apart. You must know that for years I have trodden upon the thin ice of diplomatic service, giving up my young life to the cause, only to be rewarded with ingratitude—nay, even hatred, slander and conspiracy.” The silent girl respected the calm, low spoken words; then, after a pause, she said: “ And this letter—these tidings bring to you a knowledge of this truth? ” “They confirm my long suspicions. This letter is from my mother. shall I read it—translate it for you. But no; you would not understand. It would only mystify and alarm you. I can only say that while you are wel- comed back to civilization by your good brother, friends and even the re- motest strangers of your wonderful land, who know your history, I dare not return to the country of my birth and childhood. I am as one dead; and my return would only mean my death at the hands of my enemies. Does that seem wonderful to you?” “IT cannot understand it,” said Dorothy in alarm. “ Nevertheless, it is true. For no fault of mine I am an outcast—a wan- derer upon the face of the earth. I was sent to Khartoum to be killed. When all others had given to them the privilege of fleeing and saving them- selves, I alone of the consular staff was commanded to remain. When Khartoum fell, and it was known that not a soul escaped, there was great rejoicing among those who had brought about my incarceration there; and now there is gloom and rage and enmity, instead of a greeting from my father- land. No one waits for me with longing. My mother will meet me in Cairo as soon as I am able to move from here; and then ” “ And then? ” echoed Dorothy breathlessly. “JT don’t know. You see, it is a very long story, with its roots buried in history previous to my birth. Feuds and enmities survive in my country for generations ofttimes. My father was a very ambitious man—one who dared to love a pure and noble soul, whose misfortune was to have been born far COMicoook (CG