When Serge came down with the news, Hope's anxiety on account of her poor folk was painfully excited, and he could do but little to allay it. Some of them were undoubtedly in the net. Whether they would creep through the meshes remained to be seen. Vehement in her belief in the integrity of her people, Hope was for starting at once for the city, and it was all he could do to stop her. Old Marya sided with him energetically, however, and between them they prevailed upon her to remain quietly where she was, though greatly exercised in her mind, and vicariously suffering much. Serge brought and sent her all the news that was going. Most of their poor folks were, one by one, in due course, and with extreme reluctance, released, as the police found it impossible, in spite of all their efforts, to bring the matter home to them. A new man reigned in Scherbatzky's place and took his own measures to avoid following in his steps, and matters seemed to quieten down again. So things went on for a time. Serge came regularly to Akerman, Hope's health was decidedly improving, and her work in the city was not neglected, though Serge had deemed it wise, in the shadow of recent occurrences and present enactments, to confine it strictly to the relief of the needy, of whom, in consequence of the general upsetting, there was no lack. Then the end came swift and sudden; the end of Hope's quiet resting-time; the end of her peace of mind for many a day; well nigh, and but for the mercy of God, an end of Hope herself. For one day, when they were expecting him, Serge never came, nor any word from him. All Hope's dormant fears crept out of their hiding-places and flapped about her, a tormenting crew, obscuring all her heaven. As the hours passed and still brought no word from Serge, they finally settled down upon her hopes like a crowd of carrion crows. It was all old Marya could do from hour to hour to keep her from setting out for the city. She was still in a somewhat tremulous state of health, and looking forward with no little foreboding to that which lay before her. It was inevitable that her fears should carry her thoughts to the extremest possibilities of ill. "He is dead, Masha," she said, with tragic finality. "Nay, dearie, we should surely have heard if that was so," said old Marya. "Maybe some business has kept him just as he was starting." "He would have sent us word. He is dead, or he would certainly have sent us some word." "Maybe he's had an accident. Things do happen to folks in the city. One's never safe there. Maybe they've taken him to the hospital," said Job's comforter, who hailed from the provinces. "I must go and see. We will go at once." "Nay, not to-day, dearie, or we might pass him on the road. He's maybe coming yet." "No, he is dead," said Hope gloomily, but old Marya's argument had weight with her, in spite of her own convictions, and she drearily allowed herself to be prevailed upon to wait till morning.