the
children's school was carried away and drowned every girl and boy in it.
I didn't make the world--let God and the Czar look to it.

MICH. But, Father Peter--

PETER. No, no, boy; no man could live if he took his neighbour's pack
on his shoulders. (_Enter VERA in peasant's dress._) Well, my girl,
you've been long enough away--where is the letter?

VERA. There is none to-day, Father.

PETER. I knew it.

VERA. But there will be one to-morrow, Father.

PETER. Curse him, for an ungrateful son.

VERA. Oh, Father, don't say that; he must be sick.

PETER. Ay! sick of profligacy, perhaps.

VERA. How dare you say that of him, Father? You know that is not true.

PETER. Where does the money go, then? Michael, listen. I gave Dmitri
half his mother's fortune to bring with him to pay the lawyer folk of
Moscow. He has only written three times, and every time for more money.
He got it, not at my wish, but at hers (_pointing to VERA_), and now for
five months, close on six almost, we have heard nothing from him.

VERA. Father, he will come back.

PETER. Ay! the prodigals always return; but let him never darken my
doors again.

VERA (_sitting down pensive_). Some evil has come on him; he must be
dead! Oh! Michael, I am so wretched about Dmitri.

MICH. Will you never love any one but him, Vera?

VERA (_smiling_). I don't know; there is so much else to do in the world
but love.

MICH. Nothing else worth doing, Vera.

PETER. What noise is that, Vera? (_A metallic clink is heard._)

VERA (_rising and going to the door_). I don't know, Father; it is not
like the cattle bells, or I would think Nicholas had come from the fair.
Oh! Father! it is soldiers!--coming down the hill--there is one of them
on horseback. How pretty they look! But there are some men with them
with chains on! They must be robbers. Oh! don't let them in, Father; I
couldn't look at them.

PETER. Men in chains! Why, we are in luck, my child! I heard this was to
be the new road to Siberia, to bring the prisoners to the mines; but I
didn't believe it. My fortune is made! Bustle, Vera, bustle! I'll die a
rich man after all. There will be no lack of good customers now. An
honest man should have the chance of making his living out of rascals
now and then.

VERA. Are these men rascals, Father? What have they done?

PETER. I reckon they're some of those Nihilists the priest warns us
against. Don't stand there idle, my girl.

VERA. I suppose, then, the