By Neva's waters

by John R. Carling

“It is an assembly of the people, who adjudge you both to be worthy of death. You shall be hanged from these railings.”

“Lying prophet!” said Benningsen with a sardonic grin. “Look there!”

“The soldiers! the soldiers!” was the cry that suddenly rose from all sides.

And the student, looking in the direction indicated by Benningsen, saw glinting over the heads of the people the plumed helmets of a posse of cavalry, who, laying about them with the flat of their sabres, were endeavouring to open a way to the spot where the ministers were.

There was a moment of irresolution on the part of the crowd, and then, with a howl, they rushed at the carriage.

Well was it for Benningsen that disguised police existed, otherwise he would have made a tragic ending then and there.

It so happened, however, that a number of these secret agents of the Government had been slowly edging their way to the front, with the result that the crowd suddenly found the carriage girt by a ring of men, armed with batons and pistols, who, in the quickness of their appearing, seemed to have sprung from the ground. Their resolute attitude cowed the mob as if by magic, and as the trampling of horse-hoofs and the waving of sabres were now close at hand, to be far from the ministers and not near them, now became the object of the crowd.

Benningsen made no attempt at taking reprisals. At a word from him the cavalry closed in order round the carriage, and, escorted thus, the two ministers made their way to the Winter Palace.

Here, in the ante-chamber where it was their custom to await the pleasure of the Emperor, they found the rest of the ministers assembled, Count Baranoff alone excepted, a very significant exception. They had all received a special summons to attend the Imperial presence, and were looking somewhat downcast, an aspect due to the belief that the coming interview would end in their dismissal.

From the vast crowd that had gathered in front of the palace there came with regular iteration, the cry of “Down with the Ministry!”—a cry plainly heard by those within the ante-chamber.