Still she gave no answer. The frost from the upper part of the window had melted away in the heat of the room, and the ridge of ice across the bottom of the panes was dripping water to the floor, like the ticking of a clock. Katerin turned to the fire again. Her face was drawn as if she were crying but her eyes were free from tears and she made no sound. There came the sound of dull thuds from the courtyard. Something was striking frozen ground with regular blows, and soon could be heard the sharp rasping of metal on stone. Katerin moved as if she would get up to look out of the window, but seeing Shimilin standing in front of her as if he intended to block the way, she sank back on the bench. Her terror grew as she began to understand the meaning of the sounds outside. “What is that?” she whispered to Shimilin. “Tell me! What is happening?” “Come and see for yourself,” said Shimilin, and moved aside so that she might pass to the window. She got up and started to cross so that she might look out. But she had not gone half the distance, when she stopped at hearing Wassili screaming below stairs. “Mistress! Mistress! The soldiers are——” But Wassili’s cries were checked. There were sounds of a scuffle, followed by harsh warnings from soldiers that the _moujik_ must be still. Katerin ran to the window. As she looked below, she gave a gurgling cry as if she had been struck in the mouth, and put her hands up to her face to shut out the sight of what she saw. For below in the courtyard her father was working with a shovel and throwing up broken, frozen, brown earth. A soldier was breaking the ground with a pick. And about the workers stood a large group of soldiers with their rifles, watching Kirsakoff dig a grave! Katerin backed away from the window, sobbing, and threw herself upon a bench. “You submit to Zorogoff or you die—both of you!” said Shimilin. “There is yet time to save your father.” Katerin stood up and faced Shimilin. “You have betrayed us!” she cried. “There is no truth in you, you are not worthy of trust! Death is better than life where there is no honor, no truth, no faith in any man!” She turned her back upon the Cossack, and held out her arms to the icon of the Virgin Mother. “Mercy on the soul that goes to greet you—mercy, mercy, oh Mother of God!” A whistle broke shrilly on the cold air outside. Shimilin leaped at Katerin, and grasping her by the shoulders, swung her round and thrust her at the window. “Look!” he commanded. “If you can be so stubborn! Look, and see if you still wish to disobey the orders of the Ataman!” Katerin saw her father standing with his back to the old wall of the court and six soldiers before him with their rifles upraised and aimed at the old general. She fell back against Shimilin, half fainting, but recovering herself, staggered away from the window and fell upon her knees, her head bent toward the icon, moaning prayers.