ty. I suppose one cannot pay him."

"No; one cannot pay him," answered Steinmetz gravely.

There was a little pause. From the interior of the cottage came the
murmured gratitude of the peasants, broken at times by a wail of
agony--the wail of a man. It is not a pleasant sound to hear. Catrina
heard it, and it twisted her plain, strong face in a sudden spasm of
sympathy.

Again she made an impatient little movement.

"Let me go in," she urged. "I may be able to help."

Steinmetz shook his head.

"Better not!" he said. "Besides, your life is too precious to these poor
people to run unnecessary risks."

She gave a strange, bitter laugh.

"And what about you?" she said. "And Paul?"

"You never hear of Paul going into any of the cottages," snapped
Steinmetz sharply. "For me it is different. You have never heard that of
Paul."

"No," she answered slowly; "and it is quite right. His life--it is
different for him. How--how is Paul?"

"He is well, thank you."

Steinmetz glanced down at her. She was looking across the plains beyond
the boundless pine forests that lay between Thors and the Volga.

"Quite well," he went on, kindly enough. "He hopes to ride over and pay
his respects to the countess to-morrow or the next day."

And the keen, kind eyes saw what they expected in the flickering light
of the lamp.

At this moment Steinmetz was pushed aside from within, and a hulking
young man staggered out into the road, propelled from behind with
considerable vigor. After him came a shower of clothes and bedding.

"Pah!" exclaimed Steinmetz, spluttering. "Himmel! What filth! Be
careful, Catrina!"

But Catrina had slipped past him. In an instant he had caught her by the
wrist.

"Come back!" he cried. "You must not go in there!"

She was just over the threshold.

"You have some reason for keeping me out," she returned, wriggling in
his strong grasp. "I will--I will!"

With a twist she wrenched herself free and went into the dimly lighted
room.

Almost immediately she gave a mocking laugh.

"Paul!" she said.

CHAPTER XIII

UNMASKED

For a moment there was silence in the hovel, broken only by the wail of
the dying man in the corner. Paul and Catrina faced each other--she
white and suddenly breathless, he half frowning. But he did not meet her
eyes.

"Paul," she said again, with a lingering touch on the name. The sound of
her voice, a rough sort of tenderness in her angry tone, made Steinmetz
sm