“Nay, nay,” said the girl; “don’t be playing the boy, for it is time that you were a man. Think not, dear Alexis, that I shall not miss you; think not that I shall feel no anxiety for my only brother, my only companion, and, save our good parent, the only friend I have in Siberia.” Alexis smiled, though the tear was in his eye. He said nothing, but, clasping Kathinka’s hand tenderly, he went to consult with his father. It is sufficient to say, that at last his consent was obtained, and in a few days the young hunter, by the active efforts of his sister, was equipped for the expedition. The evening before he was to set out, he had a long interview with Kathinka, who encouraged him to procure the finest sable skins, saying that she had a scheme of her own for disposing of them to advantage. “And what is that precious scheme of yours?” said Alexis. “I do not like to tell you, for you will say it is all a girl’s romance.” “But you must tell me.” “Indeed--I must? Well, if I _must_ I will. Do you remember the princess Lodoiska, that was for some time in concealment at our house during the siege of Warsaw?” “Yes; I remember her well. But why was she there? and what became of her? And did father know that she was there? or was it only you and mother and me that saw her?” “Too many questions at once, Lex! I will tell you all I know. The princess was accidentally captured by father’s troop in one of its excursions to a neighboring village. She had fled from Warsaw a few days before, when the insurrection first broke out, and she had not yet found the means of going to St. Petersburgh. Father must have known who she was, though he affected not to know. He kept the secret to himself and his family, fearing, perhaps, that some harm would come to the lady if she were discovered. It was while she was at our house that our blessed mother died. Father, you know, was at that time engaged with the Russians, without the walls. The princess and myself only were at mother’s bedside when she breathed her last. Her mind was bright and calm. Indeed, it seemed to me that there was something of prophecy in her spirit then. A look so beautiful I never saw. ‘Sweet lady,’ said she, taking the hand of the princess, ‘I see how this dreadful strife will end. Poor Poland is destined to fall--and many a noble heart must fall with her. I know not that my gallant husband may survive; but if he do, he will be an exile and an outcast. For him, I have few fears, for I know that he has a spirit that cannot be crushed or broken. In Siberia, he will still be Pultova. But, princess, forgive if a mother’s heart, in the shadow of death, sinks at the idea of leaving children, and especially this dear girl, in such circumstances. What will become of Kathinka, if my fears prove prophetic?’