Now and then Michael met Sergius in the streets, but the boys took no notice of one another, thinking it safer not to appear acquainted. They imagined they saw a spy in every man and woman who happened to be walking in the same direction; and Markovin deepened this impression by his gloomy forebodings. He had no suspicion that Michael had been smuggled into the prison. The mere thought would have killed him. He was exceedingly glad when Michael bade him farewell, though he had shown him every kindness in his power. The old man kissed the boy on the forehead, with a profound sigh, and prayed that God's blessing might rest upon them both, "Me as well as him, O Lord!" he said in a trembling voice. Michael and Sergius had much to say to one another as they drove homewards. Sergius had less to tell, for though he had been pitied and sympathised with as the son of Khariton Kondraty, who had been so long in prison for his faith, his father was not a well-known and beloved presbyter, as Alexis Ivanoff was. His arrest had been a blow to a score or more of little Stundist churches. Then there was Michael's adventure in the jail, and his stolen interview with his father, a secret which he confided to Sergius under a solemn vow of inviolable secrecy. There must not be a hint or a whisper of such an event, for fear of getting Pafnutitch into disgrace or danger, if he was found out. They left their old sledge among the reeds growing along the margin of the river, and led their tired horse at nightfall by a narrow by-path to Ostron. Paraska hailed their arrival with a gladness the boys had never before seen on her joyless face. The news of their return soon spread, and before midnight, one woman after another stole in to ask if there was any news of their husbands, and any hope of their liberation. The wife of Nicolas Pavilovitch came amongst them, but Michael did not say a word to her that it was rumoured her husband was about to recant, and bear witness against the other Stundists. It seemed too shameful and too treacherous a thing for him to put into words. It was not many weeks, however, before Nicolas himself arrived in a police-sledge. Every man and woman in Knishi ran into the frost-bound street to watch its progress. The sledge was driven straight to Father Cyril's house. Nicolas had been ordered to make his submission to his parish priest. When he entered the house under the eye of the policeman, he bowed profoundly to the icon, and with a tremulous voice asked for the priest's blessing, and humbly kissed his hand. "Nicolas Pavilovitch, you desire to come back to the Orthodox Church?" said Father Cyril, after reading the order from the consistory. "I do," answered Nicolas. "Is this from conviction before God?" he asked. "Or from fear of man?" Father Cyril's voice was stern, and his gaze penetrating. The miserable-looking man only bowed his head, he could not utter a word.