with wood, and was burning fiercely. We struggled vainly to open the double window; at last we were obliged to call the guard, who remonstrated earnestly with us, in his unintelligible language, before he could be induced to comply with our request. When the room had become somewhat cooler, Grace lay down on one of the hard seats, with a travelling-bag for a pillow, and, covered with her fur cloak, was soon sound asleep. I made some attempts to look out of the window, but finding the night dark and the landscape invisible, I give my attention to my journal. The candle shows signs of going out altogether, so I will follow Grace's example and try to sleep.
St. Petersburg, Dec. 13.
The rest of that night journey was inexpressibly weird. Being fond of novelty, I was pleased with it, though my bones ached sadly from my hard bed. We lumbered on slowly and painfully. I felt sorry for the engine, it seemed to labor so. Every now and then we stopped to rest. A mysterious, funereal bell tinkled every five seconds during the stoppage, and strange voices kept up a continual jabber in an unknown tongue under the window. Then on we plodded through the darkness, and it seemed as if daylight would never come.
I had fallen into a light doze, when our door was unceremoniously opened, and a face framed in a long, dark beard was thrust in. The hair was parted in the middle and fell on the shoulders, and the head was
