"Ah?" she said with a quick swallow of her hopes and fears. "And he brings news?" "He brings a rumour--but it may not be true." His words prepared her for ill news. She eyed him anxiously. "He says that when he left Odessa it was understood there that Serge had been shot in attempting to escape----" "Ah!" she gasped. "And it was through you----" Then her little round chin sunk on to her chest, and her bosom heaved convulsively. "Yes," he began bitterly. "It was through me----" and stopped. It was unjust, cruelly unjust. But he choked it down and sat in silence gazing into the ashes. Jangled heartstrings emit strange discords at times, even in a man, and he knew it. And this was a woman, and the woman he loved more than anything on earth. All the same, as he sat there, life felt to him like a handful of grey ashes. All his hopes were trembling in the balance, but not by a word would he sway the balance either way. "Give her time, give her time," he said to himself. "It is Hope Ivanovna. She will come to herself." And she did. For the sobs died away at last, and presently she stretched a trembling hand round towards him, and said falteringly, "Forgive me, my friend--I was unjust.--You did it for the best----" He took her hand very gently, and bent and kissed it, and she got up and went away to her closet. The grey morning light showed how little she had slept. Her face was white and anxious, the circles round her eyes were darker than ever Her first words were-- "When did Mikhail Barenin come?" "Three months ago." "And you have known it all this time! Oh, why----" "We do not know even yet that it is true, Hope Ivanovna." "Does Mikhail believe it is true?" "He said it was generally accepted as true," he said gravely, "but rumour often lies, and rumour from Siberia----" "Why did you not tell me before?" "I did not wish to distress you----" "Why did you tell me now?" "I thought much before I did so. I tried to view the matter from all points. I decided at last that it was right you should know. I could not but see the distress the long suspense is causing you." "It is terrible," she said miserably. "It will kill me. This not knowing if he is alive is worse almost than knowing that he is dead." "It leaves us hope." "Hope dies of want," she said sadly. "Hope must not die," he said. "When hope dies life is not worth living." It was bravely said, for he could not but know that, if that other hope did finally die through lapse of time, then there might be hope--ay, and Hope for him. CHAPTER XVII HOW PAUL FOUGHT THE TERROR AND MADE A FRIEND As Kara slipped slowly out of its winter fetters, and the skies brightened and the earth softened to the spring, typhus began at once to make head again in the crowded prison.