"The Convent of the Transfiguration," said Katina. "On some Czernovese monasteries you will see a crescent beside the cross; it is a sign that the place was once in the hands of the Turks. But the crescent gleams not here," she continued proudly. "The pavement of the Convent of the Transfiguration has never been trodden by the foot of pagan or heretical foe. A strong fortress as well as a monastery, it has often checked the march of Muscovite and Turkish conquest." A liturgical service was taking place in the convent. The chant of the monks was plainly audible, intermingled with the notes of the organ. "They are supplicating for Poland," said Katina. "They pray for nothing else. Day and night their one cry is, 'How long, O Lord, how long?'" The voices of the chanting friars produced a singular, nay, a weird impression upon Paul. Paganini himself could not have devised anything more awe-inspiring and unearthly than the refrain that now rose upon the night air. "Some of the holy brethren," continued Katina, "are men who were once in Siberian mines. And such men! If you thought my back a pitiable sight, Captain Woodville, what would you think if you could see some of the dreadful forms hidden behind those walls?" Her words, her looks, and above all the wild plaint proceeding from the convent, increased Paul's eerie sensations. "Come here what hour you will of the twenty-four, you shall never miss the chant of those monks; their prayer never ends." "A perpetual service? I have heard of such." "When our fatherland was conquered in '95," continued Katina, "the then abbot of yon convent ordained that from that time forth the brethren should pray for no other thing than the restoration of Poland. "To this end he drew up a liturgy and divided the whole body of the monks into three parts, directing that each in turn should recite this liturgy, band to succeed band without a moment's break. The convent has never wanted for devout men to consecrate themselves to this service. "Day and night unceasingly for over fifty years their supplication has been going up to the saints above," said Katina. "Is it not time their prayer was answered?" She clasped her hands and turned her face to the starlit heaven,--a face made beautifully touching by its earnestness. "Oh! Queen of heaven," she murmured, "look down upon our country. Give us the thing we long for." For a moment she stood in silent prayer, and then, taking up the reins again, she began to urge the horses forward, as if finding in that act a relief to her overwrought feelings. Once more the troika skimmed along, scarcely seeming to touch the earth, and the majestic convent with mysterious voices faded away in the gloom. "Abbot Faustus still maintains his attitude of defiance towards the new archbishop," said Trevisa addressing Katina. "And he will ever maintain it," she replied. "Be sure that Ravenna, anathematize as he may, will never be permitted to enter that convent."