What had been his own selfish desire was now transformed into a patriotic fervor to help his own people. The old tribal spirit of the Slav had come to life again within him when he encountered the mad ecstasy of liberty among the people in Vladivostok. He longed to have some hand in the great emancipation which had been brought about by those of his race. He was determined to join the orgy of destruction. And now he saw his own personal revenge coupled with the troubles of the old exile and his daughter. Not only would Peter become the savior of the beautiful Vashka and strike a blow to thwart the new tyranny of Zorogoff, but his own father would be avenged. Katerin personified for him the Russia which must be saved, just as Kirsakoff personified the Russia which must be destroyed. For Kirsakoff, a survivor of the old autocracy, was plotting with the Mongol, Zorogoff, to defeat the purposes of the revolution and once more bind the people to the wheel of slavery. The old system was evil, and no vestige of it must remain. That was the aim of the people, and Peter believed in it. His mind had never grasped the thought that in the background of events there might be a new autocracy throwing sand in the eyes of the people to enslave them with new fetters which were not yet visible. “Destroy! Destroy all who do not work!” was the cry. And as work was defined for the mass of the people, it meant common labor—and the laborer lacked the ability to think about the consequences of killing all who might be able to divine the purpose behind the cry for destruction. And Peter was trapped into thinking only of the past and its evils, without looking into the future of a race which allowed only its serfs to live. He thought only of the fact that he had been rescued from Siberia and sent back with the power of avenging his own wrongs. And as he prayed for success, he crossed himself with both hands, in the way of the people of old. The deep well of mysticism and emotionalism which so often had swept the Slav into action without the cooler previsions of those races which had gained the beginning of their freedom in the Dark Ages, now shook Peter’s soul. He was living again in the stark horrors of his boyhood—living over again the bitter morning when his father had been struck down in the street. These memories he hoped to blot out by slaying with his own hand one dragon of the old autocracy—Michael Alexandrovitch Kirsakoff.