During the short afternoon a light fall of snow and sleet came on. Every one of the cavalcade was covered with a fine, crisp powder. The telegas looked like silvered chariots; and the horses drawing them were beautifully white. Every blade of grass, and the bare stubble of the cornfields, was delicately frosted over. It was a white procession, long-drawn-out, passing through a white landscape. Towards the north the sky was of a livid darkness; and the captain of the convoy ordered a quick march. "How beautiful it is!" exclaimed Michael. "But it's terrible!" said Sergius. They reached the half-way étape before the telegas came up, and were ready to lift down Tatiania and little Clava. They had not stirred since Sergius tucked the sheepskin round them; nor did they move when he lifted it off, and called "Mother!" They were fast asleep, in a profound and peaceful slumber, little Clava locked in her mother's arms, never more to wake again to this world's pain and anguish. No trouble like this could befall them, the boys said to one another the next day, as they followed the telega which carried the dead bodies to the nearest cemetery; nothing worse could happen. Yet in their inmost hearts there lurked a dream of other losses. Khariton looked fearfully ill to-day; and Alexis did not seem much better. Each one of the Stundist band was terribly cast down. Their wives and children were so exhausted and feeble they could hardly hope, nay, they could hardly wish, they would live to reach Irkutsk. Every now and then there were delays, made absolutely necessary from snowstorms, which made it impossible to continue the march for days together. Then came the alternative misery of semi-starvation. They never had enough to eat, but in these weather-bound intervals Famine laid its skeleton hand upon them. Christmas was past before they reached Irkutsk. This was the end of their calamitous journey. Here Paraska's husband, Demyan, was already established, and probably awaiting their release under police regulations. In this place they would probably be allowed to settle down, thousands of miles from their native village. The Stundists gathered together, in sad and solemn thanksgiving. Of the nine women who had elected to go with them into Siberian exile, four were lying in scattered graves along the route, never to be visited by those who loved them. Of the fourteen children, only five were left; Michael and Sergius being two of them. Even while the survivors sang their usual evening hymn, "Oh, happy band of pilgrims!" the tears rolled down their rugged and wasted faces, and their voices faltered. "We praise Thee, O Lord!" said Alexis. "We praise Thee!" echoed the others. "Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord!" said Alexis. "They are blessed!" was the response. "Blessed are ye when men persecute you for Christ's sake," he continued. "We are blessed," they answered. Then Alexis opened his Bible, and read these words—