to the girl's questions.

"You say no! Why, brother, if your mother is still at Omsk, for what
reason could you refuse to see her?"

"For what reason, Nadia? You ask me for what reason," exclaimed Michael,
in so changed a voice that the young girl started. "For the same reason
as that which made me patient even to cowardice with the villain who--"
He could not finish his sentence.

"Calm yourself, brother," said Nadia in a gentle voice. "I only know
one thing, or rather I do not know it, I feel it. It is that all your
conduct is now directed by the sentiment of a duty more sacred--if there
can be one--than that which unites the son to the mother."

Nadia was silent, and from that moment avoided every subject which in
any way touched on Michael's peculiar situation. He had a secret motive
which she must respect. She respected it.

The next day, July 25th, at three o'clock in the morning, the tarantass
arrived at Tioukalmsk, having accomplished a distance of eighty miles
since it had crossed the Ichim. They rapidly changed horses. Here,
however, for the first time, the iemschik made difficulties about
starting, declaring that detachments of Tartars were roving across the
steppe, and that travelers, horses, and carriages would be a fine prize
for them.

Only by dint of a large bribe could Michael get over the unwillingness
of the iemschik, for in this instance, as in many others, he did not
wish to show his podorojna. The last ukase, having been transmitted by
telegraph, was known in the Siberian provinces; and a Russian specially
exempted from obeying these words would certainly have drawn public
attention to himself--a thing above all to be avoided by the Czar's
courier. As to the iemschik's hesitation, either the rascal traded on
the traveler's impatience or he really had good reason to fear.

However, at last the tarantass started, and made such good way that by
three in the afternoon it had reached Koulatsinskoe, fifty miles farther
on. An hour after this it was on the banks of the Irtych. Omsk was now
only fourteen miles distant.

The Irtych is a large river, and one of the principal of those which
flow towards the north of Asia. Rising in the Altai Mountains, it flows
from the southeast to the northwest and empties itself into the Obi,
after a course of four thousand miles.

At this time of year, when all the rivers of the Siberian basin are much
swollen, the waters of the Irtych were very high. In consequ