and which at one time she had despaired of ever
seeing, for her eyes were gazing at the horizon, beyond which she knew
her banished father was. She saw nothing of the country across which she
was traveling at the rate of fifteen versts an hour; nothing of these
regions of Western Siberia, so different from those of the east. Here,
indeed, were few cultivated fields; the soil was poor, at least at the
surface, but in its bowels lay hid quantities of iron, copper, platina,
and gold. How can hands be found to cultivate the land, when it pays
better to burrow beneath the earth? The pickaxe is everywhere at work;
the spade nowhere.

However, Nadia's thoughts sometimes left the provinces of Lake Baikal,
and returned to her present situation. Her father's image faded away,
and was replaced by that of her generous companion as he first appeared
on the Vladimir railroad. She recalled his attentions during that
journey, his arrival at the police-station, the hearty simplicity with
which he had called her sister, his kindness to her in the descent of
the Volga, and then all that he did for her on that terrible night of
the storm in the Urals, when he saved her life at the peril of his own.

Thus Nadia thought of Michael. She thanked God for having given her such
a gallant protector, a friend so generous and wise. She knew that she
was safe with him, under his protection. No brother could have done
more than he. All obstacles seemed cleared away; the performance of her
journey was but a matter of time.

Michael remained buried in thought. He also thanked God for having
brought about this meeting with Nadia, which at the same time enabled
him to do a good action, and afforded him additional means for
concealing his true character. He delighted in the young girl's calm
intrepidity. Was she not indeed his sister? His feeling towards his
beautiful and brave companion was rather respect than affection. He felt
that hers was one of those pure and rare hearts which are held by all in
high esteem.

However, Michael's dangers were now beginning, since he had reached
Siberian ground. If the reporters were not mistaken, if Ivan Ogareff had
really passed the frontier, all his actions must be made with extreme
caution. Things were now altered; Tartar spies swarmed in the Siberian
provinces. His incognito once discovered, his character as courier of
the Czar known, there was an end of his journey, and probably of his
life. Michael felt now m