frequently. Before leaving yesterday, he gave me strict orders to look
after your welfare. I trust you will be pleased with my efforts, and
give Mr. Vosky a good report when he returns."

By slow degrees Alfred Banford recovered his strength. He found books
with which to while away the time. The stillness of this secluded spot
was a gratifying change from the noisy battlefield.

One night, Mr. Vosky returned. As he entered the house, his face shone
with enthusiasm and gay spirits. "I come," said he, turning to Alfred,
"to give you liberty after your long confinement. I stand at your
service, and wish to do everything in my power to see you safely
restored to your own country. I would suggest that you go with me to St.
Petersburg; from there you can easily return to your own home by water.
I should like to introduce you to my wife and children. Besides, I could
not let you depart without suitable clothing, and I cannot provide you
with that here."

"My good man," said Alfred, "your extraordinary kindness to me exceeds
all measure. I cannot understand how I should merit such consideration
from you."

"But," said Mr. Vosky, almost choked with emotion, "I find nothing
extraordinary or bountiful in my acts. It is my duty, an act of
gratitude."

"I fail to understand you," said Alfred. "I cannot remember the
slightest favor that I have ever proffered you. I never saw you before,
and what is more, I never heard of you in my life."