from all ends of the earth--with
Russians, Ukrainians, Tatars, Georgians, Chinese, Gypsies, Jews--
and ever since he had listened to their talk and watched their
sufferings, he had begun to turn again to God, and it seemed to him
at last that he had learned the true faith for which all his family,
from his grandmother Avdotya down, had so thirsted, which they had
sought so long and which they had never found. He knew it all now
and understood where God was, and how He was to be served, and the
only thing he could not understand was why men's destinies were so
diverse, why this simple faith which other men receive from God for
nothing and together with their lives, had cost him such a price
that his arms and legs trembled like a drunken man's from all the
horrors and agonies which as far as he could see would go on without
a break to the day of his death. He looked with strained eyes into
the darkness, and it seemed to him that through the thousand miles
of that mist he could see home, could see his native province, his
district, Progonnaya, could see the darkness, the savagery, the
heartlessness, and the dull, sullen, animal indifference of the men
he had left there. His eyes were dimmed with tears; but still he
gazed into the distance where the pale lights of the steamer faintly
gleamed, and his heart ached with yearning for home, and he longed
to live, to go back home to tell them there of his new faith and
to save from ruin if only one man, and to live without suffering
if only for one day.

The cutter arrived, and the overseer announced in a loud voice that
there would be no loading.

"Back!" he commanded. "Steady!"

They could hear the hoisting of the anchor chain on the steamer. A
strong piercing wind was blowing by now; somewhere on the steep
cliff overhead the trees were creaking. Most likely a storm was
coming.

UPROOTED

_An Incident of My Travels_

I WAS on my way back from evening service. The clock in the belfry
of the Svyatogorsky Monastery pealed out its soft melodious chimes
by way of prelude and then struck twelve. The great courtyard of
the monastery stretched out at the foot of the Holy Mountains on
the banks of the Donets, and, enclosed by the high hostel buildings
as by a wall, seemed now in the night, when it was lighted up only
by dim lanterns, lights in the windows, and the stars, a living
hotch-potch full of movement, sound, and the most original confusion.
From end to end, so far a