and along the shores of the lakes of Southern Finland, by way of Tavastehus and Viborg, to Petersburg.
I was alone in the compartment, and sat moodily watching the panorama of wood and river as we slowly wound up the tortuous ascents and descended the steep gradients. I had not even a newspaper with which to while away the time, only my own apprehensive thoughts of whither my helpless love was being conducted.
Daylight faded, and even the crowds of picturesquely dressed Finnish peasants with their white head-dresses no longer afforded me distraction. The long night crept on, and beneath the flickering oil-lamp in the roof I stretched myself and dozed.
Surely to no man was there ever presented such a complicated problem as that which I was now trying so vigorously to solve. I loved Elma Heath. The more I reflected, the deeper did her sweet countenance and tender grace impress themselves upon my heart. I loved her, therefore I was striving to overtake her.
The steamer, I learned, would call at Hango and Helsingfors. Would they, I wonder, disembark at either of those places? Was the man whom I had known as Hornby, the owner of the Lola, taking her to place her again in the fiendish hands of Xavier Oberg?
The very thought of it caused me to hold my breath.
Daylight came at last, cold and grey, over those dreary interminable marshes where game, especially
