“Have good heart,” muttered Michael. “It is not far now to the hotel, and the roads will be better.” “The boots make me slow,” whispered Katerin. “But do not think of me. Save your strength, for I can walk all day. And we must not appear to be in a hurry.” “It is plain that no one has suspected us,” said Michael, peering back through the fog to make sure that they were not being trailed. “The test will come at the hotel,” said Katerin. “There we may encounter spies, so we must be most careful.” “It is too early for many officers of the Ataman to be about,” said Michael. “But there is safety in boldness.” They went on. Soon they passed the ruin of the great house which had been their home in the years while Michael was Governor. Only one wall stood, black and charred and penciled with white in crevices of the timbers where the powdered snow had sifted in. The vacant windows yawned upon them, showing a dismal background of drifting fog. In that house they had lived as rulers of the Valley of Despair. In time they came to the upper end of the Sofistkaya where a road turned off to the prison on the hill. They moved down past the big store which had been looted thoroughly by the Bolsheviki and the exiles who had been freed from the prison after the fall of the throne. The great windows along the street were boarded up, and a pair of Japanese sentries stood by the entrance. From the roof flew a red and white flag which marked the headquarters of the Japanese commander. Next they passed the wrecked bank. It was there that Michael’s partner had been slain while attempting to save what was left of the bank’s money after the first big raid. The windows were also boarded, so that in case of another uprising by revolutionists the building could not be used as a rifle-nest for snipers. Now there were more people in the streets. But every one was going about his business and paid little attention to Michael and Katerin. Such soldiers as they saw ignored them. They reached the bridge over the Ingoda, and now could see the front of the Dauria, not far ahead. They soon gained a position on the street opposite the entrance to the hotel, and crossed in the middle of the street after the manner of people from the country. Michael paused before the door, and waited for Katerin to come up with him. “This is the place,” said Michael gruffly, and then he pushed open the door. He was afraid that there might be a group of people inside, but his fears were relieved at finding a sleepy-eyed youth drowsing by a fire-reddened stove on a bench. Once through the door, Katerin let her bundle drop to the floor. It was so warm inside that she began to worry lest they be expected to uncover their faces, and in that case, if they did not find Slipitsky at once, they might be recognized by some casual passer-by who would carry the news of their arrival at the hotel to some of Zorogoff’s spies.