ied--about
the people, I mean?"

"Oh, yes!" answered Etta, glancing at the clock and hiding a little yawn
behind her fan.

"I did not tell you all," went on Paul, "partly because it was
inexpedient, partly because I feared it might bore you. I only told you
that I was vaguely interested in the peasants, and thought it would be a
good thing if they could be gradually educated into a greater
self-respect, a greater regard for cleanliness and that sort of thing."

"Yes, dear, I remember," answered Etta, listlessly contemplating her
gloved hands.

"Well, I have not contented myself with thinking this during the last
two or three years. I have tried to put it into practice. Steinmetz and
I have lived at Osterno six months of the year on purpose to organize
matters on the estate. I was deeply implicated in the--Charity League--"

Etta dropped her fan with a clatter into the fender.

"Oh! I hope it is not broken," she gasped, with a singular
breathlessness.

"I do not think so," replied Paul, picking up the fan and returning it
to her. "Why, you look quite white! What does it matter if it is broken?
You have others."

"Yes, but--" Etta paused, opening the fan and examining the sticks so
closely that her face was hidden by the feathers. "Yes, but I like this
one. What is the Charity League, dear?"

"It was a large organization gotten up by the hereditary nobles of
Russia to educate the people and better their circumstances by
discriminate charity. Of course it had to be kept secret, as the
bureaucracy is against any attempt to civilize the people--against
education or the dissemination of news. The thing was organized. We were
just getting to work when some one stole the papers of the League from
the house of Count Stepan Lanovitch and sold them to the Government. The
whole thing was broken up; Lanovitch and others were exiled, I bolted
home, and Steinmetz faced the storm alone in Osterno. He was too clever
for them, and nothing was brought home to us. But you will understand
that it is necessary for us to avoid any notoriety, to live as quietly
and privately as possible."

"Yes, of course; but--"

"But what?"

"You can never go back to Russia," said Etta slowly, feeling her ground,
as it were.

"Oh, yes, I can. I was just coming to that. I want to go back this
winter. There is so much to be done. And I want you to come with me."

"No, Paul. No, no! I couldn't do that!" cried Etta, with a ring of
horror in h