Argosy, Vol. 1 (December 9, 1882) — page 384: what you’re looking at

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

A FAIR SLAVE TO THE MAHDL 377 above him in social distinction, but one who loved him devoutly, neverthe- less. My father was a petty officer in one of the provincial regiments, and she who became my mother was the daughter of his superior. These matters are very serious in Russia; and when the Crimean War broke out, the supe- rior officer went up higher in the ranks, even in the shadow of the great Czar himself, while his unworthy son in law was all but disgraced. “ During the Crimean campaign my poor mother nearly starved to death right at her father’s own doorstep, fed through the bounty of some of the household servants, who risked their own lives in this charity ; and then came the tidings to her ears that her husband was to be pushed into the van of the fighting ranks by the Czar’s orders; and if he escaped death by some miracle, he was, on some pretext or other, to be transported for life to Siberia. “ Oh, you cannot understand these things as they were—aye, as they still are—in my country. But writing a farewell letter to the heart broken wom- an of his love, seeing defeat alike in death and survival, knowing that with his passing his widow would be taken back into the paternal arms and at least saved a pauper’s destiny, the brave man plunged into the thick of the fight during the dock explosions of Sebastopol, and my poor father was killed, and what is more, we have no record of the finding of his body and its decent burial.” “ He is dead then? ” murmured Dorothy, her. sou! harrowed by the re- membrance of that strange parting moment in the monastery of St. Antony of the Desert, overlooking the sweeping Nile; “he is dead then—you are quite sure?” “ Of that, God alone knows the truth. As for the living—the surviving mother and child—for all these years she has remained true to his memory, refusing many worthy hands, devoting herself to her son. Then I was drawn into diplomatic service, where those who had borne enmity toward the father might continue to persecute the son.. I was sent into the heart of Africa to die; but I still live, with no one to glory in the truth save her alone—my poor mother.” Dorothy seemed stunned by the picture so vividly thrown up before her. But when the story was ended, she put forth her hand, seizing his with a trem- bling encouragement. “ Don’t say that, comrade, “ she said smiling, “ for it is not true.” Then, after a moment: “ Do you know I had a visitor last night. Can you guess? Well, he was the young surgeon of the field corps who brought me back to life in the camp at Otao. He told me some things which-amazcd ine, yet made me somehow very grateful. Shall I tell you just one episode as he confessed it?” The prince was silent. “Of course, from the moment that I believed you dead on the field,” began Dorothy, “and I resorted to that last expedient in the madness of despair, I knew nothing till I awoke in the hospital camp with the workers still fighting back that death which I had coveted, and which was creeping inch by inch upon me. __ But last night I learned, comrade, how my rescuer bore me on his shoulders through the Arab ranks under terrific fire with the ECOMmicoookKks CO