." He took the miniature from his
pocket and opening it, held it before her face. "Your mother gave
her life for her country." For some moments he gazed upon the
beautiful face in the miniature. "She was a lady, and feared not
death. Ah! ah! such a death!" He struggled fiercely with his emotions.
"She was willing to die. Should not I? You do not grudge that I
should leave you, that I should die, if need be?" An anxious,
almost wistful tone crept into his voice.

Bravely the little girl looked up into the dark face.

"I remember my mother," she said; "I would be like her."

"Aha!" cried her father, catching her to his breast, "I judged you
rightly. You are her daughter, and you will live worthy of her.
Kalman, come hither. Irma, you will care for your brother. He is
young. He is a boy. He will need care. Kalman, heart of my life!"

"He does not understand Russian," said Paulina. "Speak in Galician."

"Ha," cried the man, turning sharply upon her as if he had
forgotten her existence. "Kalman, my son," he proceeded in
Russian, "did you not understand what I said to your sister?"

"Not well, father," said the boy; "a little."

"Alas, that you should have forgotten your mother's speech!"

"I shall learn it again from Irma," said the boy.

"Good," replied the father in Galician. "Listen then. Never forget
you are a Russian. This," putting the miniature before him, "was
your mother. She was a lady. For her country she gave up rank,
wealth, home and at last life. For her country, too, I go back
again. When my work is done I shall return."

Through the window came sounds of revelry from the house near by.

"You are not of these cattle," he said, pointing through the window.
"Your mother was a lady. Be worthy of her, boy. Now farewell."

The boy stood without word, without motion, without tear, his light
blue eyes fixed upon his father's face, his fair skin white but for
a faint spot of red on his cheek.

"Obey your sister, Kalman, and defend her. And listen, boy."
His voice deepened into a harsh snarl, his fingers sank into the
boy's shoulder, but the boy winced not. "If any man does her wrong,
you will kill him. Say it, boy? What will you do?"

"Kill him," said the boy with fierce promptitude, speaking in
the English tongue.

"Ha! yes," replied his father in English, "you bear your mother's
face, her golden hair, her eyes of blue--they are not so
beautiful--but you have your father's spirit. You would soon lea