"How?"
"This hope of revenge on Mastowix has buoyed me up during all these years; but now that I find that you have been the innocent cause of bringing retribution upon him, I feel that my life's object, my object for living, no longer exists, and a relapse from that high excitement is coming on, and I may die at any moment; but, thank goodness, perfectly sane."
"Oh, do not talk so, please. You are the only friend I have in all this vast expanse of human misery. Do not think of dying, I beg of you," said Barnwell, greatly excited.
"Goodness knows how long the time may be; but do not leave me, my son, do not leave me. I have a premonition of death, and that must not be until I have transferred a great secret into some worthy hands."
"And you still trust me?"
"I will. I feel that I can. Come and see me again to-morrow to–mind you–to take still further lessons in the Russian language."
"I will come."
CHAPTER VIII.
THE RUSSIAN LANGUAGE AND A STORY.
The next day, and for several days, William Barnwell visited the cell of old Peter Batavsky for the purpose of receiving lessons in the Russian language.