"Poor little girl!"
She smiled.
"Mr. Hay, you have made good progress in your Russian since I met you last," she said. "General Malinkoff, isn't it?"
The general stood strictly to attention, his hand at his cap—a fact which seemed to afford great amusement to the gaoler who stood in the doorway, and who was an interested spectator.
"It was Boolba's idea that I should bring you food," said the girl, "and I have been ordered to bring it to you every day. I have an idea that he thinks"—she stopped—"that he thinks I like you," she went on frankly, "and of course that is true. I like all people who fly into danger to rescue distressed females," she smiled.
"Can anything be done for you?" asked Malcolm in a low voice. "Can't you get away from this place? Have you no friends?"
She shook her head.
"I have one friend," she said, "who is in even greater danger than I—no, I do not mean you. Mr. Hay"—she lowered her voice—"there may be a chance of getting you out of this horrible place, but it is a very faint chance. Will you promise me that if you get away you will leave Russia at once?"
He shook his head.
