CHAPTER XVI.
TRUE TO HIS TRUST.
That night, after all had retired, William Barnwell, in the privacy of his own chamber, untied one of the bags, and emptied its contents upon his bed, so that the noise of the jingle might be smothered.
He was a good judge of Russian gold, and this he found to be genuine, coined in double roubles, with dates mostly before and during the reign of Czar Nicholas, the tyrant par excellence of Russia, which is saying much.
He was a ruler who knew nothing of humanity or justice, who was quite as bad, save in form and outward show, as Catherine or her barbarian predecessors, always excepting Peter the Great.
It took England, France and Sardinia to teach him the rudiments of civilization, and even then he died a barbarian at heart, as he had always lived, leaving a conquered monarchy to his son, who tried to appease the world by abolishing serfdom, although he probably never would have done so had not the teachings of Batavsky and others taken root in the hearts of the Russian people, creating a diversion in favor of political liberty, which he thought to smother while freeing the serfs.
So much for history, but it had to come in, this being in nearly all respects a historical story.
"Slightly mildewed, but every one of them genuine," said Barnwell, after he had tested several thousand dollars' worth of them. "And if poor old Batavsky's spirit is hovering near to me, and to the yellow coin he devoted to the advancement of human liberty and equality, it shall see that I shall prove true to my trust. To-morrow I will away to Berlin, to place this to my credit, after which–well, after which, we shall see!"
Then he fell into a reverie. He dreamed a thousand things and considered a thousand possibilities, but as he pushed them away for future consideration, the form of the beautiful Laura Clark filled his mental vision.
What had become of her, and what did she think of his conduct?