It was about ten o’clock on the following morning when Mascha emerged from the grimy portals of the prison, and under a strong escort walked across the market-place to the temporary platform that had been erected. A great crowd had assembled to witness the chastisement of “the pretty Jewess,” and as she mounted the steps, with pale, determined face, they greeted her with fierce yells of triumph. She looked round upon the sea of upturned countenances contemptuously. On the platform there had been set up a square wooden frame. Unceremoniously, the brutal moujiks, who assisted the executioner, grasped her with their coarse, dirty hands and tore off her clothing, exposing her bare, white back down to the waist. The mob roared with approbation when they saw this preparation. A few moments later she was forced upon the black frame, and her wrists and ankles secured so tightly that the tension almost caused dislocation of the joints. Then the executioner, whose duty it was to carry out the sentence, seized the knout—a number of triangular thongs of leather fixed into a short whip handle—and looked round for the signal to commence. As he did so, General Martianoff, with his shoulder bandaged, made his way through the expectant crowd, and shouted— “Come, get to work. Don’t spare her, but keep the death-blow till last.” Hushed and open-mouthed, the spectators awaited the result of the first blow. The executioner receded, swung the terrible torture instrument over his head, and giving it a peculiar twist, brought it down upon the victim’s back with a sound like a pistol-shot. The cruel thongs cut their way into the flesh and the blood gushed forth. Time after time the blows fell monotonously, until the quivering flesh was beaten to a pulp, and both victim and executioner were covered with blood. Such was the scene of fiendish brutality that met my gaze on my arrival at Mstislavl, after having traced my mother and sister from Petersburg. I was making my way through the shouting populace when, out of mere curiosity, I glanced at the face of the unfortunate girl, and recognised her. Was it surprising that I rushed wildly up and endeavoured to stop the horrible punishment? So suddenly did it all happen, however, that I remember very little about it, except that in my wrathful indignation I cursed the Tzar’s myrmidons, and struck in the face the inhuman Governor who attempted to throw me from the platform. Thinking that I was Mascha’s lover, and enraged at the blow, he thereupon ordered me to receive thirty lashes. I saw them carry away the insensible, mutilated form of my poor sister. Then they tied me to the frame. I felt the thongs cut into my back like knives. Once! Twice! Thrice! The pain became excruciating. My head reeled, and a moment later all became blank.