The next morning Marfa was laid in one of the telegas which carried those unable to walk, and the march set out again. There were no seats in these rough, springless carts, and only a thin sprinkling of hay was laid in the bottom of each. Three women lay or crouched beside her. In front of the telegas went a convoy of soldiers, and behind them was the band of chained convicts, shuffling along in low shoes, with their heavy leg-fetters weighing upon them, and now and then clanging against their ankles. Behind the telegas came the baggage-waggons, followed by the free exiles, and the women and the children over twelve years of age who were following their husbands and fathers. After these was a rear-guard of soldiers. It was full summer now. The sun beat upon the dried-up road, and the dust lay inches thick. The long procession numbered hundreds, and at every footfall the fine, pulverised earth rose in quantities, until the whole cavalcade was almost hidden in a cloud of yellow dust, suffocating to all who breathed it, but to those who were ill, this atmosphere was almost deadly. Marfa lay along the bottom of the narrow telega, with her head on the lap of a convict who was suffering from asthma, and who could only breathe at all when sitting upright. The woman was gentle and kindly, but there was no escape from the terrible jolting of the springless cart, and the dust-laden air which set the asthmatic convict coughing, and shook her whole body. Marfa looked up into her face pitifully, but what could she do and say to comfort the poor woman? Fever was burning in all her veins, and the heat of the sultry sun seemed to scorch every nerve. She was conscious now, and alive to all the anguish of her position. But her weary brain was unable to recall some memory which haunted it. "Who was it said, 'I thirst'?" she asked, looking up into the face leaning over her, in an interval of rest from the racking cough. "I don't know, dear," answered the woman; "nobody in particular. We all say it." "Living waters!" murmured Marfa. "Somewhere there are living waters." "I wish they were here," said the woman. "In the cup of salvation," whispered Marfa to herself. The woman shook her head, smiling bitterly. When the midday halt was called, Sergius and Michael rushed to the telega, followed more slowly by Tatiania and little Clava. But Marfa did not recognise them. She was lying quietly, however, and the friendly convict was sitting in a cramped position to give her more room. They bought some tepid water from the peasants who brought provisions for sale, and she drank a little, but she could eat nothing. "What can we do?" cried Tatiania, wringing her hands. Whilst little Clava climbed into the cart, and crept close to Marfa's side.