ile in his grim way, as a man may smile when in pain.

"Paul, what did you do this for? Why are you here? Oh, why are you in
this wretched place?"

"Because you sent for me," he answered quietly. "Come, let us go out. I
have finished here. That man will die. There is nothing more to be done
for him. You must not stay in here."

She gave a short laugh as she followed him. He had to stoop low to pass
through the door-way. Then he turned and held out his hand, for fear she
should trip over the high threshold. She nodded her thanks, but refused
the proffered assistance.

Steinmetz lingered behind to give some last instructions, leaving Paul
and Catrina to walk on down the narrow street alone. The moon was just
rising--a great yellow moon such as only Russia knows--the land of the
silver night.

"How long have you been doing this?" asked Catrina suddenly. She did not
look toward him, but straight in front of her.

"For some years now," he replied simply.

He lingered. He was waiting for Steinmetz, who always rose to such
emergencies, who understood secrets and how to secure them when they
seemed already lost. He did not quite understand what was to be done
with Catrina--how she was to be silenced. She had found him out with
such startling rapidity that he felt disposed to admit her right to
dictate her own terms. On a straight road this man was fearless and
quick, but he had no taste or capacity for crooked ways.

Catrina walked on in silence. She was not looking at the matter from his
point of view at all.

"Of course," she said at length, "of course, Paul, I admire you for it
immensely. It is just like you to go and do the thing quietly and say
nothing about it; but--oh, you must go away from here. I--I--it is too
horrible to think of your running such risks. Rather let them all die
like flies than that. You mustn't do it. You mustn't."

She spoke in English hurriedly, with a little break in her voice which
he did not understand.

"With ordinary precautions the risk is very small," he said practically.

"Yes. But do you take ordinary precautions? Are you sure you are all
right now?"

She stopped. They were quite alone in the one silent street of the
stricken village. She looked up into his face. Her hands were running
over the breast of the tattered coat he wore. It was lamentably obvious,
even to him, that she loved him. In her anxiety she either did not know
what she was doing, or she did not care whether