Our outing was brief. Once more I was hustled down the ladder. The woman helped me into bed and went away. Some time after midnight, the woman returned. This hour reminded me of the night at Ekaterinburg. I began to cry. Her worn, white face told me only too well that she had worked many hours preparing for our departure. She brought me a cup of milk. Her hand was shaking. I felt a warm feeling of appreciation. I too was trembling. I spilled the milk. She dried the splash on my dress and turned away but our souls were knit together. She rushed me to dress in the same clothes I had worn before, except that the old dress now had a wide hem. It almost reached to my ankles. My black stockings were well hidden by my high laced shoes and the long dress. She tied a babushka around my head. Silently she handed me a label which had apparently been removed from someone’s coat or dress. Stamped on brown taffeta in gold were a double-headed eagle and the words, “Mikhailov Moskva.” Mikhailov was the name of a well-known Moscow firm. I could not recall having ever seen such a label and could only guess at her motive in giving it to me. Possibly she thought I would recognize it and surmise something as to what had happened to its owner. I still have it. I asked once more what had become of my old clothes that I had had on that fatal night. Puzzlingly she replied, “They were so badly bloodsoaked that I had them burned.” I wished to ask her again what became of the items I had had hidden in my clothes. I was afraid. I was at their mercy. I had no choice. There were some fifty large diamonds and pearls and about twenty-five rubies, emeralds and sapphires. I took a final glance at the room and thought of the uncertain future ahead. Now that I was leaving this tiny spot, I knew that I owed it a great deal. The only thing I had to give it I had already given--my initials. In front of the ladder I knelt down to pray for a moment for my dear ones. I dreaded to leave the dugout for fear that I might never again visit this part of the world where the remains of my beloved ones no doubt were buried--somewhere nearby. My mind went back to a question I was once asked: Why did I always stand at some distance from my sisters? I now realized that I must have unconsciously had the premonition that we would some day be separated. I blew out the candle and groped my way through the room to climb the ladder, and out through the trap door. A clam was being tom from its shell. In the hall I was greeted with a rush of fresh air. Our departure was to be immediate, with no light of any kind. In a few seconds the woman led me outdoors. XXXI WESTWARD TREK