Before the first gleam of day, he roused Velia, for they were to meet Yarina at a corner of the forest past which the road to Kovylsk ran. In the glimpses they caught of the sky when they reached any opening of the trees, they saw the stars growing pale. Velia pressed closely to Michael's side as they drew near to the fearfully-haunted place. It was a grave in a deep ravine, and a tall, thin column of mist rose from it, wavering as if half alive. Trembling among the thick trees, which were still black with night, it had a mysterious and sinister appearance. Michael threw his arm round Velia, and bade her shut her eyes until they were well past the accursed spot. At last they reached the outskirts of the forest. The sun was not above the distant horizon yet, but a sweet, soft light was everywhere diffused, a light without shadows. There was a murmur all about them of the awakening day. Michael turned towards the east, where dwelt his father and all his comrades, and watched the growing dawn. The same sun was already shining upon them, and the same Father in heaven was watching over them all. It was not long before, in the stillness, they heard the shrill, complaining sound of creaking wheels; and Yarina came up driving alone in her dilijans. There was no time lost in climbing up beside her, for they were all anxious to put as great a distance as possible between themselves and Knishi. Yarina had heard nothing of any search after Velia. Now, in the long, slow progress over the rough road, there was time enough for telling all the story of their lives since Michael and Velia were separated. Yarina listened, and often the tears filled her eyes. Why, these were children who were talking, young creatures who had never sinned against the laws of man, and not much against the laws of God. Yet they had suffered more than the worst of criminals ought to suffer. It was true, then, what Father Cyril had once said incautiously—persecution was the weapon of the devil. Yarina left her dilijans at an inn, and accompanied Michael and Velia to Markovin's door, there bidding them good-bye, before ringing his bell. She kissed Velia again and again, and pressed her lips on Michael's forehead, sobbing and weeping. "Tell them out there, in Siberia," she said, "that I'll not let my adopted children forget their own fathers and mothers. They shall hear all about it when they are old enough. I'm almost a Stundist myself, but I haven't got the spirit of a martyr, God forgive me!" Neither had Markovin the spirit of a martyr. Nevertheless, he received his unwelcome visitors very kindly; taking care, however, to send a message to the presbyter of the church in Kovylsk that they were with him, and must be forwarded on their way immediately.