rising. A storm? Hardly. For the sun had set in a clear sky. But there
was a cloud surely, growing in darkness and intensity. He could see it
more clearly now, billowing upward in grim portent._

_The Grand Duke started and then stared again. The cloud was of smoke.
Through the woods, tiny lights were sparkling, picked out with ominous
brilliancy against the velvet dusk. Peter Nicholaevitch leaned far out
of the window, straining his ears to listen. And now he seemed to hear
the crackle of flames, the distant sound of hoarse voices, shouting and
singing._

_And while he still listened, aware that a great crisis had come into
his life, there was a commotion just below him, the sound of voices
close at hand and he saw a man come running from the woods, approaching
the gateway of the Castle._

_He recognized him by the gray beard and thickset figure. It was Boris
Rylov, the Huntsman, and as he ran he shouted to some one in the
courtyard below. The Grand Duke made out the words:_

_"They're burning the Hunting Lodge--where is the Master----?"_

_Peter Nicholaevitch waited at the window no longer, but ran out of the
room and down the flight of stairs into the great hall below. For he
knew what had happened now. The Red Terror had come to Zukovo._

_He went out to the garden terrace, crossing quickly to the courtyard
where he met the frightened group of servants that had assembled._

_Boris, the Huntsman, much out of breath was waving his arms excitedly
toward the cloud of smoke rising above the pine trees, now tinged a
dirty orange color from beneath._

_"They came from all directions, Master," he gasped, "like the black
flies upon a dead horse--hundreds--thousands of them from the village
and all the country round. I talked with the first that came, Anton
Lensky, Gleb Saltykov, Michael Kuprin and Conrad Grabar----"_

_"Conrad----!" gasped the Grand Duke._

_"Yes, Highness," muttered Boris, his head bowed, "Conrad Grabar. They
tried to restrain me. Michael Kuprin I struck upon the head with a
stick--and then I fled--to warn your Highness--that they mean to come
hither."_

_The face of the Grand Duke, a trifle pale under its tan, was set in
stern lines, but there was no fear in his manner as he quickly
questioned, his eyes eagerly scrutinizing the frightened men and women
about him while he spoke to them with cool decision._

_"Thanks, Friend Rylov--you have done me a service I shall not forget."
Then to the o