Stretched upon a straw mattress in the corner of a cold, bare room in a wretched _isba_, lay my mother, her thin, haggard face, protruding cheek bones, and sunken eyes showing unmistakably that death was at hand. Mascha stood, pale and motionless, looking sorrowfully down upon her. In the grey light of the brief autumn day the dismal place presented a woeful aspect, being almost devoid of furniture, the round discoloured stove having gone out several days ago. Notwithstanding her plain shabby dress, it was certain that Mascha was beautiful; all Mstislavl, if called upon, would bear witness to this fact. About eighteen years of age, she was tall, slender, graceful, with beautifully rounded throat and arms, fair wavy hair drawn back upon her brow, a dazzling complexion, and eyes of clear child-like blue. When she smiled her charms were enhanced by an expression of indescribable simplicity and frankness. At this moment, however, she presented a sad picture, for her hair had fallen dishevelled about her handsome face, and her eyes were red with weeping. As her mother tossed wearily upon her pallet, moaning in pain, Mascha fell upon her knees and kissed the cold, drawn face. “Are you suffering much, mother dearest?” she asked, tenderly, smoothing away the dark hair from the clammy forehead. “Yes—I—I’m sinking fast, my child,” she replied in a faint, hoarse voice. “I shall leave you very soon, Mascha, and you will be alone, with no other protector except God, to whose mercy I confide you. Trust in Him in the hours of affliction or misfortune, and by His infinite power He will guide your footsteps and protect you from all harm.” She paused, and added, “Though you may be scoffed at and persecuted by Orthodox Russians, never forget that you are one of God’s chosen, and while resenting insult, always refrain from revenge.” “I can’t bear to hear you talk like this,” cried my sister, bursting into tears. “You must not—you shall not die!” Springing suddenly to her feet, she stifled her sobs, and said, “You sha’n’t starve! I’ll save you, even if compelled to beg bread from the Gentiles. I shall not be long, and I will bring you food.” With these words, she threw a cloak around her shoulders, and opening the door, disappeared; while her mother closed her wearied eyes and prayed earnestly for succour.