Life was very hard for them now. Their shackles were never removed, and they were never allowed out into the fresh air. Raw dough was thrown down to them, as one throws a scrap to a dog, and water was let down in a jug. The stench in the pit was awful and it was damp as well. Kostilin grew quite ill; he swelled very much and every bone in his body ached. He either groaned or slept all the time. Jilin, too, was depressed; he saw that their position was hopeless and did not know how to get out of it. He tried to make a tunnel but there was nowhere to throw the earth, and when the master saw it, he threatened to kill him. One day when he was most downcast, squatting in the pit and thinking of his freedom, a cake fell from above, then another, and some cherries rained down. Jilin looked up and saw Dina. She looked at him, laughed and ran away. “I wonder if Dina would help us?” Jilin thought. He cleared a space in the pit, dug a little clay and began to make some dolls. He moulded some men and horses and dogs, thinking, “When Dina comes, I will throw these up to her.” But Dina did not come the next day. Jilin heard a stamping of horses; some Tartars seemed to have come and all gathered at the Mosque, shouting and arguing. It was something about the Russians. The voice of the old man was heard, too. Jilin could not understand all they said, but he made out that the Russians were near, that the Tartars were afraid of them and did not know what to do with their prisoners. After a while they dispersed. Suddenly Jilin heard a rustling overhead and saw Dina crouching at the edge of the pit, her knees higher than her head. She bent over so that the coins at the end of her plaits dangled over the pit. Her eyes were twinkling like two stars. From her sleeve she took two cakes made of cheese and threw them down to him. Jilin picked them up and said, “What a long time it is since you’ve been to see me! I’ve made you some toys. Look, here they are!” He threw them up to her one by one. She shook her head and averted her gaze. “I don’t want them, Ivan,” she said. “They want to kill you, Ivan,” she added, pointing to her throat. “Who wants to kill me?” “My father. The old man told him to, but I’m sorry for you.” Jilin said, “If you are sorry for me, bring me a long pole.” She shook her head, as much as to say that it was impossible. He put up his hands and implored her, “Please, Dina! Be a dear and bring it!” “I can’t,” she said; “they’ll catch me at home.” Then she went away.