he happens to take to you; if not, he will
not notice you at all."

"It is a strange situation, but as I am anxious to learn the Russian
language, why, I will take almost any chance to do it, and to oblige
you, doctor."

And with this understanding Barnwell went to the cell of old Peter
Batavsky.

He found him indeed a character, even if he was insane at times.

He was at least seventy years of age, bent and bowed by hard work and
long imprisonment.

His thin hair was white, and his skin like old parchment, but his eyes
were bright, and even in his age showed the fires of youth, as well as a
high-born nature, all of which had not yet been crushed out of him by
misfortune.

But in youth he must have been a magnificent specimen of physical
manhood, standing at least six feet in height, and the surgeon had told
him that he belonged to a wealthy and influential family up to the time
of his apostacy.

He occupied a narrow cell, in which he secluded himself almost
continually, holding no intercourse with his fellow-unfortunates.

To this cell young Barnwell made his way, armed with the surgeon's
request, which he at once made known to him.

The old man looked him all over in the most scrutinizing manner, for his
great hallucination was that he was beset with spies who were bound to
bring him before the secret tribunal.

But there was something about the old lunatic which attracted the young
American, and there seemed to be a counter attraction between them.

CHAPTER VII.

STRANGE TUTOR OF RUSSIAN.

"And the surgeon wishes me to teach you the Russian language, does he?"
asked old Batavsky, reclining on his miserable couch.

"Yes, sir, if you will be so good," replied Barnwell, politely.

"So good!"

"That is what he said, sir."

"You are English, eh?"

"I speak nothing but English, although I am an American."

"Oh, an American, eh? You must be the only American in Siberia."

"I certainly hope so, sir."

"And so do I; but he wants to have you learn it so as to become a more
useful slave. How long have you been here?"

"I came with the last consignment."

"Are you a Nihilist?" asked the old man, after a moment's silence,
during which he looked at him sharply.

"No, sir; but I think the Russian police authorities will drive me to
being one."

The old man rose quickly to a sitting position.

"What were you sent here for?"

"I was sent here by the treachery of one who has since been executed.