Michael and Katerin could scarcely wait for Ilya to come up. The news of deliverance from their dangers—safety so close at hand after long weary months of hiding and worry—came like a pardon to two who were condemned to death. It had been five days since the Ataman had left them. He was still torturing them, for his threat against Katerin would undoubtedly be carried out unless she killed herself. They knew that Zorogoff would attempt to take them to his “palace” in revenge for their insults. And they had planned to die together rather than to permit the Mongol to carry out his evil purpose. That was the only way in which they could defeat him. “Our letter to the Baranoffs got through,” said Michael. “It is they who have sent this American.” “And do you think he will come here—to-night?” asked Katerin, her pale, drawn face alight with the joy of escape. “I cannot believe yet that we are to be safe again! God has answered my prayers! My father, I had given up hope!” “Perhaps Ilya brings a letter from the American officer,” said Michael. “If he has sent word to us by Ilya, he must have also given Ilya something so that we shall know the American comes from friends. We cannot delay. If the Ataman should hear of this American——” “They are coming up,” said Katerin, and they heard Wassili and Ilya mounting the stairs. Soon the light of a shaking candle appeared down the hall, and Katerin threw open the door of the room. Wassili blew out the candle when he entered, and thrust Ilya in ahead of him. “Here is Ilya Andreitch, master,” said Wassili, and Ilya blinked at the candle on Michael’s table, bowed, and stood nervously fingering his cap. “You bring us news, Ilya Andreitch,” began Michael when Katerin had closed the door. Michael’s thin, weak voice took on some of the relief he felt at knowing that help was at hand after months of danger in a world which had apparently gone mad, and he spoke somewhat in his old manner of authority. “I?” asked Ilya. “Yes, Excellence. I bring good news to your house—and to the mistress.” He bowed again, this time to Katerin, who had gone to her father. “Wassili says an American officer has sent you,” prompted Katerin, seeing that Ilya was perturbed and might be stricken dumb by fear of being before the former Governor. “He is at the Dauria, mistress,” said Ilya faintly, and turned to Wassili as if he expected the _moujik_ to take up the story now, and go on with it. “At the Dauria Hotel,” agreed Katerin. “And you have brought a message from him to us?” Ilya looked round the room wildly, seeking some escape from the eyes of Michael which bore upon him steadily. “Have you a message from the American?” asked Katerin gently. “I?” Ilya looked at her in amazement, and turned toward the door. Then he bowed again to Michael and Katerin to cover his confusion. “What did the American say?” urged Katerin, and Wassili gave utterance to a faint snort of disgust and prodded Ilya in the back.