Michael noticed that the curtain which had formerly hung before the icon had been taken away, and a twinkling lamp burned in front of it. It was a significant sign that the spirit of persecution was abroad in Kovylsk, and that Markovin quailed before it. Two days later Michael and Velia reached the railway station from which the exile party had started on their cruel journey. But they were going south now, instead of north. The train was almost due, and Michael ran with his passport in his hand to get their tickets. The clerk glanced doubtfully at the passport, and pushed it back. "Not in legal form," he said curtly. Michael's heart sank within him. How it was not legal he did not know, but any delay was dangerous. At that moment Velia uttered a cry of joy, and he saw her rush away and fling her arms round a priest in a shabby cassock. "Father Cyril!" she exclaimed. "Father Cyril!" In a moment the priest took in the situation. Here was Velia, disguised as a boy; and yonder was Michael, turning away from the ticket clerk, distressed and perplexed. He took the passport from him. "It is not visé'd properly," he said. "These two young people," he added, pleasantly, to the clerk, "have been parishioners of mine till a few months ago. I can vouch for them. Where are you going to?" he inquired of Michael. "Odessa—to our cousin," gasped Michael. "So am I," said Father Cyril. "Three tickets for Odessa, if you please." The clerk knew Father Cyril by sight, and had heard him spoken of highly. Besides, it was impolitic to get into collision with a priest. He gave the tickets with an obsequious smile. As the train went on to Odessa, Father Cyril, like Yarina, had ample time to hear the whole of the long and dreary story each had to tell. Velia sat on one side, with his arm about her, and her head resting on his shoulder, where she slept during the night. Michael was on the other hand, but the boy was too anxious to sleep. They talked in quiet and subdued voices; and as Father Cyril listened to them, his convictions grew deeper that persecution was as much a blunder as a crime. It had driven Nicolas back to the Orthodox Church, and made a coward and a hypocrite of him, but those who had gone into exile would never be won back. Father Cyril did not lose sight of Michael and Velia until he had seen them safe on board a vessel bound for Glasgow. Michael's exultation at their escape was blended with grief at quitting his own country. "I shall come back again when I am a man," he said earnestly, again and again; "not to your parish, Father Cyril, but to places where they are never taught anything true about God. I can't let my own people live and die in darkness, can I? So I must come back." "Let it be as God wills," answered Father Cyril; "surely the Church will awake to her duties."