"They were all born here," she cried; "and two of them died here before my little Clava was born. She is the dearest of them all! I'd rather see her lying dead here than leave her behind, and never know what was happening to her. She'd fret so after her mother if she didn't see me at mass in the church. No, I cannot go! I will not go without her." "But you have sold all your goods," urged Paraska; "you have nothing left but a few roubles. After to-morrow, you'll not have even this roof over your head. Think of your husband! If you won't go, of course Serge and Marfa cannot go. Because it is you who choose whether you'll go or stay. They only count as children. You'll all be beggars together." "Serge and Marfa are big and strong; they can work," said Tatiania. "And who can they work for?" asked Paraska. "They mustn't work for the Orthodox folks, and there 'll not be a Stundist left in all Knishi. There's Vania has to leave three children." "I'll never leave little Clava," interrupted Tatiania. Paraska went back to Ostron, where Sergius was awaiting her return. Oh, how mournful the old familiar place looked, now the barns and the stables were empty! There was only the old mare left; and the telega, already holding her luggage and the small bundle of clothes which Michael was taking for his long journey to Siberia. There was no pleasant cackle of poultry in the deserted fold-yard, no bleating of young lambs and calves, as was usual at this time of the year. The broken-hearted woman all at once realised how peaceful had been her days of sorrow, protected and comforted by Alexis and Catherine Ivanoff. She was losing a second home and a second family. "Paraska!" shouted Michael, as she lingered at the gate. She hastened on to the desolate house, already stripped of furniture, and the two boys asked her eagerly what Tatiania said. "She will go mad to-night, if she is not mad now this moment," answered Paraska. "She won't go; and of course nobody can make her. She is not a prisoner." "But what can we do?" cried Sergius. It was a cruel dilemma. He and Marfa could not accompany their father into exile if their mother persisted in her refusal. Now all their possessions were sold, the small sum realised by the sale would barely keep them through the summer. Unless they became Orthodox, they could not maintain themselves by labour; and both of them were old enough to know and understand the religion for which their father had suffered a long imprisonment, and was about to encounter exile. They could not renounce their faith, though the most miserable poverty, if not starvation, awaited them in the near future.