He went homewards, pondering in his heart the strange and terrible problem of how Christians could persecute their fellow-Christians. How was it possible they could think they were doing God service? To-morrow nine homesteads would be left desolate, and the hapless women and children would start on a journey of which many would never reach the end. And this was done in the name of the Lord, whom both oppressor and oppressed worshipped. CHAPTER XV BLESSING THE HERETICS AT night Father Cyril could not sleep. The scenes he had recently passed through haunted his brain, and drove away sleep. On the day that was just past, the last day, he had allowed every mother to see the children she was compelled to leave behind, for the last time. Tatiania had not come to say good-bye to little Clava; and to Father Cyril this seemed the saddest thing of all. He dreaded the day that was coming; for then the women would be carried away from their native village, probably never to return. They were in his parish, his people, though they did not acknowledge him. Yet he was absolutely powerless to help them. He had gained a few alleviations for them. He had obtained permission for Michael to join the convoy at the nearest railway station, which was two days' march from Kovylsk. But that was all. His brain whirled with useless and hopeless thoughts. Hour after hour he lay awake, praying for the unhappy people who would rather perish in Siberian wildernesses than forswear themselves. More than the rest, the fate of Tatiania and her children perplexed him. Between two and three hours before the dawn, he heard stealthy footsteps pass his window. Most of the rooms were on the ground floor; and the little chamber where Velia and Clava slept opened out of his own. Very quietly he got up, and looked cautiously through the window. It was bright moonlight, and, three shadows, one that of a woman, lay upon the ground. Very soon he heard a stifled cry. The door into the children's room fitted badly, and there was a chink wide enough for him to look through. He recognised Michael and Sergius; Michael was bending over Velia asleep and softly kissing her hair, whilst Sergius was holding Clava in his arms, and wrapping a sheepskin about her. Father Cyril understood in an instant what the boys were going to do. He stood spellbound; tears smarting under his eyelids. He had never doubted for a moment that to take children from their parents was a crime against God. He had hesitated to carry out the order of the consistory, but to refuse to obey was simply to give over his parish to the hands of those who would execute the sentence without mercy. What was he to do now?