"Well, if I could find the man, you might go to-day. Yet it is a long way, and you would not return before to-morrow." "The roads are safe, I suppose? I don't mind driving in the night." The official glanced at the clock, and rising exclaimed-- "Very well, I will send for the man. If we find him, then the carriage will be at the same spot at the eastern end of the quay in two hours." "At noon. Very well. I shall keep the appointment." "And after seeing her, you will of course keep your promise of secrecy regarding our little misunderstanding?" he asked anxiously. "I have already given my word," was the response; and the man bowed and left, much, I think, to the surprise of the hotel-proprietor and his staff. It was an unusual thing for such a high official as the Chief of Police to visit one of their guests in person. If he desired to interview any of them, he commanded them to attend at his office, or they were escorted there by his gray-coated agents. The day was cold, with a biting wind from the icy north, when after a hasty luncheon I put on my overcoat and strolled along the deserted quay where I lounged at the further end, watching the approach of a great pontoon of pine logs that had apparently floated out of one of the rivers and was now being navigated to the port by four men who seemed every moment in imminent danger of being washed off the raft into the sea as the waves broke over and drenched them. They had, however, lashed themselves to their raft, I saw, and now slowly piloted the great floating platform towards the quay. I think I must have waited half an hour, when my attention was suddenly attracted by the rattle of wheels over the stones, and turning I saw an old closed carriage drawn by three horses abreast, with bells upon the harness, approaching me rapidly. When it drew up, the driver, a burly-looking, fair-headed Finn in a huge sheepskin overcoat, motioned me to enter, urging in broken Russian-- "Quickly, Excellency!--quickly!--you must not be seen!" And then the instant I was seated, and before I could close the door, the horses plunged forward and we were tearing at full gallop out of the town. For five miles or so we skirted the sea along a level, well-made road through a barren wind-swept country whence the meager harvest had already been garnered. There were no villages. All around was a houseless land, rolling miles of brown and green, broken and checkered by bits of forest and clumps of dark melancholy pines. The road ran ever and anon right down to where the cold, green waves broke upon the rocky shore. In a few weeks that coast would be ice-bound and snow-covered, and then the silence of the God-forsaken country would be complete. After five miles or so, the driver pulled up and descended to readjust his harness, whereupon I got out and asked him in the best Russian I could command: "Where are we going?" "To Nystad." "How far is that?" "Sixty-eight," was his reply.