and a bullet whizzed past me, but I stood unharmed. Then I
jumped, and nearly upset the boat, but taking an oar I began to row for
life, and as we drew away from those grim, black walls the fire belched
forth from three rifles.

"Row!" I shrieked, turning to see if my fair companion had been hit.

"Keep cool, Excellency," urged the Finn. "See, right away there in the
shadow. We might trick them, for the patrol-boat will be at the head of
the river waiting to cut us off."

Again the guards fired upon us, but in the darkness their aim was
faulty. Lights appeared in the high windows of the castle, and we could
see that the greatest commotion had been caused by the escape of the
prisoner. The men at the door in the tower were shouting to the
patrol-boats, which were nowhere to be seen, calling them to row us down
and capture us, but by plying our oars rapidly we shot straight across
the lake until we got under the deep shadow of the opposite shore, and
then crept gradually along in the direction we had come.

"If we meet the boats, Excellency, we must run ashore and take to the
woods," explained the Finn. "It is our only chance."

Scarcely had he spoken when out in the center of the lake we could just
distinguish a long boat with three rowers going swiftly towards the
entrance to the river, which we so desired to gain.

"Look!" cried our guide, backing water, and bringing the boat to a
standstill. "They are in search of us! If we are discovered they will
fire. It is their orders. No boat is allowed upon this lake."

Elma sat watching our pursuers, but still calm and silent. She seemed to
intrust herself entirely to me.

The guards were rowing rapidly, the oars sounding in the rowlocks,
evidently in the belief that we had made for the river. But the
Finlander had apparently foreseen this, and for that reason we were
lying safe from observation in the deep shadow of an overhanging tree.

A gray mist was slowly rising from the water, and the Finn, noticing it,
hoped that it might favor us. In Finland in late autumn the mists are
often as thick as our proverbial London fogs, only whiter, denser, and
more frosty.

"If we disembark we shall be compelled to make a detour of fully four
days in the forest, in order to pass the marshes," he pointed out in a
low whisper. "But if we can enter the river we can go ashore anywhere
and get by foot to some place where the lady can lie in hiding."

"What do you advise? We are ent