Gregoriev to forgive?--And now--even now,
how could he have the faintest assurance that this summons meant
forgiveness?--No. His watchword must still be:--Wait.

When at last the flying vehicle halted at the familiar portal, the heavy
door swung open on the instant, and Ivan found himself facing a
sharp-eyed, lean-jawed man of forty-five, who announced himself one of
the doctors in attendance, and begged "his Excellency" to come up-stairs
at once. Marvelling at the form of address and the vast respect of him
who had used it, Ivan followed, docilely, and soon found himself in the
antechamber to one of the state bedrooms, in which, it appeared, Prince
Michael had been installed. Here the stranger halted, and proceeded to
give Ivan the details of his father's condition. These were of the
worst; and Dr. Froel Pavaniev strove in no way to make them appear
better.--It was a peculiar form of flattery, but one heretofore used
with excellent effect.--Ivan, however, failed to appreciate it; and
presently pushed past the pessimist, flung open the bedroom door,
and--paused. A sound had reached his ears that struck him to the heart:
a high, feeble, gasping wail, that was repeated again and again. Ivan
shuddered, and immediately the smooth voice whispered in his ear:

"It is merely his breathing.--The lungs are nearly filled you see; and
his weakness is too great to repress the sound. However, we must not
expect--"

But once more Ivan shook off the unbearable man, and walked into the
room. It was a great, tapestried chamber, dusky in the early
candle-light, furnished with heavily carved chairs and chests, and a
huge, four-posted bed. In a distant corner stood a man bending over a
tiny oil-stove, and stirring the contents of a steaming dish that stood
thereon. Beside the bed was a sister of mercy, with the white coif on
her smooth hair, her white robes girdled at the waist by a rosary which
she fingered, mechanically. Finally, in the bed, shaded by curtains
which, on one side, were drawn tight, on the other thrust wide apart,
lay the huge form from which issued those ceaseless, sobbing breaths.

Ivan remained standing a little way beyond the threshold till Pavaniev
entered and passed him, and the sister looked around. Then, for an
instant, the wailing ceased, and was replaced by a high, wavering,
querulous voice, that none would have dreamed of as belonging to Michael
Gregoriev.

"He is come?--Ivan?--Bring him to me!"

Only th