The third Tartar column, on its way to Irkutsk, had left plain traces: here a dead horse, there an abandoned cart. The bodies of unfortunate Siberians lay along the road, principally at the entrances to villages. Nadia, overcoming her repugnance, looked at all these corpses! The chief danger lay, not before, but behind. The advance guard of the Emir’s army, commanded by Ivan Ogareff, might at any moment appear. The boats sent down the lower Yenisei must by this time have reached Krasnoiarsk and been made use of. The road was therefore open to the invaders. No Russian force could be opposed to them between Krasnoiarsk and Lake Baikal, Michael therefore expected before long the appearance of the Tartar scouts. At each halt, Nadia climbed some hill and looked anxiously to the Westward, but as yet no cloud of dust had signaled the approach of a troop of horse. Then the march was resumed; and when Michael felt that he was dragging poor Nadia forward too rapidly, he went at a slower pace. They spoke little, and only of Nicholas. The young girl recalled all that this companion of a few days had done for them. In answering, Michael tried to give Nadia some hope of which he did not feel a spark himself, for he well knew that the unfortunate fellow would not escape death. One day Michael said to the girl, “You never speak to me of my mother, Nadia.” His mother! Nadia had never wished to do so. Why renew his grief? Was not the old Siberian dead? Had not her son given the last kiss to her corpse stretched on the plain of Tomsk? “Speak to me of her, Nadia,” said Michael. “Speak--you will please me.” And then Nadia did what she had not done before. She told all that had passed between Marfa and herself since their meeting at Omsk, where they had seen each other for the first time. She said how an inexplicable instinct had led her towards the old prisoner without knowing who she was, and what encouragement she had received in return. At that time Michael Strogoff had been to her but Nicholas Korpanoff. “Whom I ought always to have been,” replied Michael, his brow darkening. Then later he added, “I have broken my oath, Nadia. I had sworn not to see my mother!” “But you did not try to see her, Michael,” replied Nadia. “Chance alone brought you into her presence.” “I had sworn, whatever might happen, not to betray myself.” “Michael, Michael! at sight of the lash raised upon Marfa, could you refrain? No! No oath could prevent a son from succoring his mother!” “I have broken my oath, Nadia,” returned Michael. “May God and the Father pardon me!” “Michael,” resumed the girl, “I have a question to ask you. Do not answer it if you think you ought not. Nothing from you would vex me!” “Speak, Nadia.” “Why, now that the Czar’s letter has been taken from you, are you so anxious to reach Irkutsk?” Michael tightly pressed his companion’s hand, but he did not answer. “Did you know the contents of that letter before you left Moscow?”