brother, and in the strange revulsion of feeling which had overcome him
since yesterday, he determined to effect her release at all hazards.

The men twined and twisted about each other, swayed to and fro in their
endeavor to gain the mastery, while the crowd, forgetting its own
passions, formed a circle about them, applauding now the one, now the
other.

Meanwhile Joseph had raised the helpless form of his betrothed from the
ground and endeavored to carry her through the mob. A score of brawny
arms barred the way.

Fear for his beloved gave the young man almost superhuman strength.
Seizing in his right hand a cudgel which was lying on the ground, while
his left arm still supported Kathinka, he hewed a passage through the
ranks. Eight men lay sprawling upon the ground and their companions
retreated before the telling blows of Joseph's club. When he found
himself unembarrassed by the rioters, he lifted Kathinka in both his
arms and ran as fast as his feet would bear him to his father's house,
which, having already been attacked, he hoped would escape a second
visit.

The combat between Loris and Mikail was short. The priest labored under
a manifest disadvantage in being crippled in one arm, while Loris,
driven to desperation by seeing Kathinka carried off, gathered all his
strength and with a mighty blow hurled the monk to the ground. There was
a dull crash. The priest's head had struck the pavement with such force
that his skull was crushed and a crimson stream of blood gushed from his
lips and nostrils, his body quivered, his maimed arm fell heavily at
his side. Mikail, the Jew-hater, had ceased to exist.

For a moment Loris was dazed and conscience-stricken. To kill a priest
was a serious crime. Moreover, that priest had been his father's friend
and favorite adviser, and Loris had much to fear from parental wrath.
The mischief was done, however, and bestowing upon the dead body a
parting glance of ineffable hatred, he set to work to reunite his
scattered band.

The outrages in the Jewish quarter had been duly reported to the
Governor, who shrugged his shoulders, rubbed his palms and smiled with
secret satisfaction.

"Revenge is sweet," he muttered, and he placed himself at the window,
where he could witness the burning of the houses.

About noon the body of Mikail was carried past the palace to the
Petcherskoi convent, and at the same time exaggerated accounts reached
Drentell's ears of the dangers to whic