nd on the mouth and on the cheeks, making the holy cross."

She braced herself for the effort, and wrenched free. In a flash he came
at her, and his hands caught the silken gown at the shoulder. She
twisted under his arm, leaving a length of tattered and torn silk in
his hand, and the marks of his finger-nails upon her white shoulder. He
stopped and laughed--a low, gurgling laugh--and it was to the girl like
the roar of some subterranean river heard from afar.

"Oh, Highness," he mocked, "would you rob a blind man of his bride? Then
let us be blind together!"

He blundered to the door. There was a click, and the room was in
darkness.

"I am better than you now," he said. "I hear you in the dark; I can
almost see you. You are by the corner of the table. Now you are pushing
a chair. Little pigeon, come to me!"

Whilst he was talking she was safe because she could locate him. It was
when he was silent that she was filled with wild fear. He moved as
softly as a cat, and it seemed that his boast of seeing in the dark was
almost justified. Once his hand brushed her and she shrank back only
just in time. The man was breathing heavily now, and the old, mocking
terms of endearment had changed.

"Come to me, Irene Yaroslav!" he roared. "Have I not often run to you?
Have I not waited throughout the night to take your wraps and bring you
coffee? Now you shall wait on me by Inokente! You shall be eyes and
hands for me, and when I am tired of you, you shall go the way of Sophia
Kensky."

She was edging her way to the door. Once she could switch on the light
she was safe, at any rate for the time being. There was a long silence,
and, try as she did, she could not locate him. He must have been
crouching near the door, anticipating her move, for as her hand fell on
the switch and the lights sprang into being, he leapt at her. She saw
him, but too late to avoid his whirling hands. In a second he had her in
his arms. The man was half mad. He cursed and blessed her alternately,
called her his little pigeon and his little devil in the same breath.
She felt the tickle of his beard against her bare shoulder, and strove
to push him off.

"Come, my little peach," he said. "Who shall say that there is no
justice in Russia, when Yaroslav's daughter is the bride of Boolba!"

His back was to the curtain, and he was half lifting, half drawing her
to the two grey strips which marked its division, when the girl
screamed.

"Again, again, m