subjected to corporal punishment . . . yes;--of other wrongs I will not speak. . . . But is there really nothing before us but to go back to those old times again? The way they are treating the young people now! . . . Yes, it breaks down all endurance at last. . . . It breaks it down! Yes! Wait a bit!"

I had never seen Baburin in such a condition. Musa turned positively white. . . . Baburin suddenly cleared his throat, and sank down into a seat. Not wishing to constrain either him or Musa by my presence, I decided to go, and was just saying good-bye to them, when the door into the next room suddenly opened, and a head appeared. . . . It was not the cook's head, but the dishevelled and terrified-looking head of a young man.

"Something's wrong, Baburin, something's wrong!" he faltered hurriedly, then vanished at once on perceiving my unfamiliar figure.

Baburin rushed after the young man. I pressed Musa's hand warmly, and withdrew, with presentiments of evil in my heart.

"Come to-morrow," she whispered anxiously.

"I certainly will come," I answered.

I was still in bed next morning, when my man handed me a letter from Musa.

"Dear Piotr Petrovitch!" she wrote: "Paramon Semyonitch has been this night arrested by the police and carried off to the fortress, or