In the hour that followed we both related briefly our adventures. She had grown older, more matronly, yet still more beautiful than when I had last seen her writhing under the terrible torture of the knout in the open market-place of Mstislavl. As I felt the soothing touch of her hands, and looked into the deep-blue eyes, I saw fathomed there a wealth of love, and patience, and pity. Sitting at table with Liustig and Boris Soliviof—the proprietor of the confectioner’s shop, who had admitted me—I watched Mascha’s face as she chatted and drew tea from the shining samovar. In repose, its expression was one of infinite gentleness; yet in a moment, at a word regarding the revolutionary movement, it would change: the rosy, child-like lips would meet, the fair cheeks glow, the delicate nostrils dilate, and the eyes would flame with an enthusiasm begotten of wrong and long suffering. She described to me her life since that day when we last met at Mstislavl; how she had been kept in prison for three years, two of which were spent in the Fortress of Peter and Paul, merely because she was suspected of political enthusiasm. She was never brought to trial; but, after the long years of solitude in damp, mouldy cells, during which her health was shattered, she contracted typhoid fever, and was set at liberty. Since that time she had allied herself with the _Zemliá i Vólia_, and had been considered one of the most daring members of the group. She earned her living by fur-sewing, and was engaged to be married to Ivan Liustig. My real name had never transpired in connection with the work of the Executive, therefore she had all these years believed that I was still in exile in Siberia, where she had heard our father had died while chained to his wheel-barrow in the Nerchinsk mine. I was relating how I escaped, when the opening of the street-door by a latch-key, and flying footsteps on the stairs startled us. The handle of the door was turned, and a thin, dark-haired young man dashed into the room. He must have sped quickly, for he put his hand to his side, and with difficulty gasped— “Quick! They are searching. The police are already on their way here!” Then turning to me, said, “Hide! hide, for your life!” Mascha wrung her hands, crying, “Fly! fly, Anton! They must not discover you! Fly!” I was making blindly for the door, when Liustig’s voice arrested me. “No—no time; they will meet you—you must hide!” “Where can I?” And I looked round the room in dismay. “The window—it is dark.” Mascha spoke, pointing upwards. The man who had warned us had already disappeared. My sister saw my hesitation. The window was high in the wall, and I could not reach it. “Take the bag with you. Jump on my shoulders,” gasped Liustig, turning his back and lowering his body.