Tells Tragic Truths.
When, with extreme difficulty, I slowly struggled back to a knowledge of things about me, I found myself, to my great surprise, in a narrow hospital-bed, with a holy ikon upon the whitewashed wall before me, and a Red Cross sister bending tenderly over me.
Beside her stood two Russian doctors regarding me very gravely, and at their side was Saunderson, our Councillor of Embassy.
“Well, how are you feeling now, Colin, old man?” the latter whispered cheerfully.
“I—I don’t know. Where am I?” I asked. “What’s happened?”
“My dear fellow, you can thank your lucky stirs that you’ve escaped from the bomb,” he said.
“The bomb!” I gasped, and then in a flash all the horrors of that sudden explosion crowded upon me. “What happened?” I inquired, trying to raise myself, and finding my head entirely enveloped in surgical bandages. “What happened to the others?”
“The Grand Duke was, alas! killed, but his daughter fortunately escaped only with a scratch on her arm,” was his reply. “The carriage was blown to atoms, the two horses and their driver and footman were killed, while three Cossacks of the escort were also killed and two injured.”
“Then—then she—she is alive!” I managed to gasp, dazed at the tragic truth he had related to me.
“Yes—it was a desperate attempt. Fifteen arrests have been made up to the present.”