The timorous old man looked scared when he saw the boy, the notorious Alexis Ivanoff's son. But he could not find it in his heart to send him away. He felt a superstitious pleasure in the fact that he had never turned a Stundist away from his door, however terrified he was at harbouring them. The fresh outbreak of persecution redoubled his dread, though he had no reason to suppose the authorities suspected him of heresy. But who knew where a spy might be lurking? He diligently attended mass in the cathedral, where he had been for some years a verger; and he crossed himself, and bowed to the icons. When the brethren reproached him with time-serving, he excused himself by citing the example of Naaman the Syrian, who said to Elijah, 'Thy servant will henceforth offer neither burnt offering nor sacrifice to other gods, but unto the Lord. In this thing the Lord pardon thy servant, when my master goeth into the house of Rimmon to worship there, and he leaneth on my hand, and I bow myself in the house of Rimmon . . . the Lord pardon thy servant in this thing.' This history was a great comfort and support to Markovin, and he was generally known among the Stundists by the name of Naaman. Markovin led Michael into an inner room, where no one could hear or see them, and almost in a whisper told him all he knew about the prisoners. They had been brought several times before a committee of investigation, of which Father Paissy was the chairman, held in the consistory. Every effort had been made to get them to recant; promises and threats had been showered upon them. But all remained firm and faithful to their convictions, except perhaps Nicolas Pavilovitch, who seemed shaken by the rigour of his prison experience, and the promise of reward if he returned to the Orthodox Church. "Why can't they hold their opinions as I do?" asked old Markovin querulously. "The Scriptures don't say, 'Thou shalt not cross thyself, Thou shalt not bow to the icons'—" "There you're wrong," interrupted Michael hotly; "did you never see the commandment, 'Thou shalt not make to thyself any graven image, neither of things in heaven, nor things on earth, nor things under the earth. Thou shalt not bow down to them, nor worship them'? Not bow down to them, Markovin Petrovitch! Not even bow down to them. And you know they worship them—pray to them." "The icons are painted, not graven," answered Markovin; "besides, there was Naaman the Syrian—" But before he could utter another word, a loud knocking at the outer door made his old knees tremble and his hands shake as with palsy. "Did anybody see you coming in?" he asked in a terrified voice. "I don't know," answered Michael, "but nobody in Kovylsk knows me." Markovin threw himself on the bed. "Go to the door," he murmured, "and tell them I'm ill in bed. Oh, I am ill, true enough!" CHAPTER XII A FRIENDLY JAILER