He threw himself on Elisaveta and began to strangle her. She awoke. Again there was a dark, terrible dream. Nothing as yet was to be seen, it was hard to tell what was happening. But fear filled the intense darkness. Dark figures seemed to throng in it. The darkness cleared a little, the atmosphere became ominously grey. A narrow courtyard slowly outlined itself, flanked by high walls with windows closely intersected by bars. Her heart whispered audibly: “A prison. A prison courtyard.” Out of a narrow door prisoners were being conducted into the still dark courtyard on a cold early morning in winter. They walked in single file--a soldier, a prisoner, a soldier, a prisoner, a soldier--there seemed to be no end to it; there was a steady shuffling of feet across the courtyard. A small gate opened in the wall with a creaking sound. All walked through it. And beyond the wall Elisaveta already caught a glimpse of a flat, endless field of snow, and of a whole row of gallows that stretched into the invisible distance. They were approaching these nearer and nearer--to meet their fate. She could not remember how it happened, but she also walked with them. A soldier strode in front of her and in front of the soldier was a boy. Though the boy had his back to her she recognized him--it was Misha. Terror paralysed her tongue--when she tried to cry out she could not find her voice. Terror fettered her feet--when she tried to run she remained rooted to the spot. Terror gripped her arms--when she tried to lift them they hung helplessly at her sides. People were being hanged at the nearest gallows and the prisoners had to walk past the hanged ones to the gallows beyond. Misha was being hanged, but he broke loose. He was hanged again, and again he broke loose. This happened an endless number of times, and each time he broke loose. She could see a furious face and the grey bristles of trimmed moustaches. She could hear the malignant cry: “We must finish him off!” A shot was fired; there was a low, dull discharge: the boy fell and began to toss on the ground. Another shot--the boy kept on tossing. The shots came faster--but the boy was still alive. Elisaveta awoke; this time she did not go to sleep again. Her heart beat half with pain, half with joy, because it was but a dream--but a dream! Her heart was bright with exultant joy. The golden arrows of the yet quiet and gentle Dragon fell softly with sidelong glances. Evidently it was still early. In the distance Elisaveta could hear the sound of a horn and the lowing of cows. The bedroom walls were tinged with rose light. The early light stole in through the windows and messaged an altogether new, better day. A refreshing breeze blew in through the open window, the twitter of birds also entered, the air resounded with early morning joy. Elisaveta was soon aware that Elena was also awake. CHAPTER VII