Michael kissed this letter. And resting his forehead on the hands that enfolded it, he thought with love and gratitude of Father Cyril. Oh, if all Batoushkas had only been like him! Then his father and the Stundist brethren would never have been driven to leave the Orthodox Church. The boy did not yet know how deeply rooted were the principles which separated his people from a State religion. He was, however, keenly awake to the danger there would be to Father Cyril if such a letter was found in his handwriting. He set himself to learn it by heart; and when he was satisfied that he knew and would remember every word of it, he lit a match, and held the burning paper in his fingers till they were almost scorched, taking care that no vestige of the writing should remain. Markovin looked on with nods of understanding and approval. "A wise lad! A prudent lad!" he murmured. "His head is screwed on right. I'd trust him with a secret." The next two days Michael drove alone along the route he and his father had traversed on his return from Scotland. He was to join the band of convicts and free exiles at the same station; and in the meanwhile he was charged by his father with the commission to deliver up the funds of the churches in his district to the man who had been elected presbyter in the place of Alexis Ivanoff. Michael had besides to carry sundry messages from the Stundists in Kovylsk to the little congregations dwelling in scattered villages. It was considered safer to employ a boy than a man; and every precaution was necessary not to arouse suspicion. He reached the station where he was to join the convict party about an hour before the train was due; for the first few stages were to be taken in an ordinary train, though in special carting. Michael lingered about the station-yard, anxiously looking out for the first indication of the approach oft the prisoners. The stationmaster was raging about the unpunctuality of the prison-convoy. In a siding stood a small number of comfortless carriages, little better than cattle trucks, but with benches and a roof. These were set apart for the exiles. At last a confused sound was heard in the distance, which by and by came more clearly to the ear as the clanking of chains, the harsh creaking of cart-wheels, the tramp of horses' hoofs, and the cracking of whips. It was a sound to which Michael was to grow familiar, but now it seemed to jar through all his being. Both mind and body were shocked by it; and to the last day of his march with the prisoners the ominous discord made him shiver.