Peter laughed merrily to cover the sudden fear which he had felt that she might recede from her promise to help him find Michael Kirsakoff. “I have no fear,” he said. “There may be danger, but I am glad to help you. I shall attempt to find Kirsakoff in any event—and may well run into more danger than if your father should tell me how to go about the job. So when it comes to that, my danger is only increased if you do not help.” “Perhaps you are right,” she said. He went and lifted the shade off the lamp, and stood revealed in his uniform in the flood of light. The silver bars on his shoulders glittered as he leaned over the lamp, but Katerin’s eyes rested upon the brown boxlike holster at his hip. He swung round upon her, smiling. Now he saw that her gay mood of her former visit had vanished—her eyes seemed sadder and the light revealed the pinched pallor of her face. She was suffering from strain long endured, he saw, and a twinge of pity tugged at his heart. He went and pulled down the decrepit window shades, and then slapped his pistol. “Here we have the power of America!” he said. “Behind me is an army. Come! It is not a time to be sad! America is here, and that means justice to the oppressed!” She sat down in a chair, and smiled at him, in a brave attempt to be merry with him. “America must be a wonderful land,” she said. “I have heard much about it, and read much about it. But there are many who say it is no better than our own Russia.” “What!” cried Peter. “You must not be misled. America is a land of magic! Look at me, a poor Russian boy who was the son of an unfortunate here in the Valley of Despair, and in a few years it transformed me into an officer, and sent me back to help my own people—and to help you, Vashka.” “And in time you will go back to America,” she said. “Like all Russians who have been there and return to their own land, you will once more go to America.” “Oh, yes. I shall go back when Russia has her freedom. But what did your father say? Have you persuaded him to help me about Kirsakoff? You have not told me that.” “My father is discouraged. You must not be annoyed if he is slow and cautious with you, who are a stranger. He has said that he doubts if one American officer can fight the army of Zorogoff.” “But he must remember also that I am a Russian. Does he think I will hide behind my American coat, and allow Kirsakoff and Zorogoff to destroy you? I may be only one, but behind me is the American army, and Zorogoff must give heed to that.” “But if Zorogoff’s men should kill you? We have seen terrible things here—men are shot down crossing the street if they are opposed to Zorogoff. And who is to know who fired the shot if you should meet such a fate? Then, if it were known to Zorogoff that we had helped you, it would be the worse for us, with no one to protect us.”