e to waste in
words. I have brought you water; wash and dress. Remember you are no
longer a disreputable revolutionist, but a respectable American citizen,
and we must make you look a little more like one."

There was something queer in his manner. Gruff as ever, he yet spoke to
me, treated me, almost as if I were a child who had to be heartened up,
as well as taken care of. But I didn't resent it. I knew it was his way
of showing affection; and it touched me keenly. We had learned to
understand each other well, and no man ever had a stancher comrade than
I had in Mishka Pavloff.

During that last of our many rides together he was far less taciturn
then usual; I had never heard him say so much at one stretch as he did
while we pressed on through the dusk.

"We have shown you something of the real Russia since you came back--how
many weeks since? And now, if you get safe across the frontier, you will
be wise to remain there, as any wise man--or woman either--who values
life."

"I don't value my life," I interrupted bitterly.

"You think you do not. That is because you are hasty and ignorant,
though the ignorance is not your fault. You think your heart is broken,
_hein_? Well, one of these days, not long hence, perhaps, you will think
differently; and find that life is a good thing after all,--when it has
not to be lived in Russia! If we ever meet again, you will know I have
spoken the truth."

I knew that before many days had passed, and wondered then how much he
could have told me if he had been minded.

"If we meet again!" I echoed sadly. "Is that likely, friend Mishka?"

"God knows! Stranger things have happened. If I die with, or before my
master,--well, I die. If I do not, I, too, shall make for the frontier
when he no longer has need of me. Where is the good of staying? What
should I do here? I would like to see peace--yes, but there will be no
peace within this generation--"

"But your father?" I asked, thinking of the stanch old man, who had gone
back to his duty at Zostrov.

"My father is dead."

"Dead!" I exclaimed, startled for the moment out of the inertness that
paralyzed my brain.

"He was murdered a week after he returned to Zostrov. There was trouble
with the _moujiks_,--as I knew there would be. The garrison at the
castle was helpless, and there was trouble there also, first about my
little bomb that covered our retreat. You knew I planned that,--_hein_?"

"No, but I suspected it."

"A