e road!--and gradually
died away.

"He has escaped, thanks be to God!" Mishka said, in a hoarse whisper.

"How do you know that?"

"If they had overtaken him they would have found the droshky empty, and
would have sought us along the road."

"Well, what now? How far are we from the meeting-place?"

"Three versts, more or less. We should have been there by this time!
Come, let us get on. Have you the pocket lamp? We can use it now. It
will help us a little, and we shall strike a track before long."

The lamp was a little flash-light torch which I had slipped into my
pocket at the last moment, and showed to Mishka when I was changing my
clothes. It served us well now, for the lightning flashes were less
frequent; the worst of the storm was over.

I suppose we must have gone about half a verst--say the third of an
English mile--when we found the track he had mentioned, a rough and
narrow one, trodden out by the foresters, and my spirits rose at the
sight of it. At least it must lead somewhere!

Here Mishka stumbled and fell again.

"It is useless. I can go no further, and I am only a hindrance. But
you--what will you do--?"

"I'm going on; I'll find the place somehow."

"Follow the track till you come to an open space,--a clearing; it is a
long way ahead. Cross that to your right, and, if your lamp holds, or
the storm passes, you will see a tree blazed with five white marks, such
as the foresters make. There is another track there; follow it till you
are challenged; and the rest will be easy. God be with you."

We gripped hands and parted. I guessed we should not meet again in this
world, though we might in the next,--and that pretty soon!

I pushed on rapidly. The track, though narrow, was good enough, and I
only had to flash my torch occasionally. I was afraid of the battery
giving out, which, as a fact, it did before I emerged in the clearing
Mishka had mentioned. But the light was better now, for the storm had
passed; and in this northern latitude there is no real night in summer,
only "the daylight sick," as Von Eckhardt would say. Out in the clearing
I could see quite a distance. The air felt fresh and pleasant and the
patch of sky overhead was an exquisite topaz tint. I stood to draw
breath, and for a moment the sheer splendor of the night,--the solemn
silence,--held me spellbound with some strange emotion in which awe and
joy were mingled. Yes, joy! For although I had lost my two good
comrades, and