Dina burst into tears and, covering her face with her hands, she fled up the hill, bounding along like a wild goat. The coins in her plait could be heard jingling in the darkness. Jilin crossed himself, took the lock of his shackles in his hand to prevent a clatter and started on his way, dragging his shackled leg and gazing at the red in the sky where the moon was rising. This time he knew the way. He had to go straight on for six miles. If only he could reach the wood before the moon had quite risen! He forded the river. The red light over the hill had paled. He walked along the valley, looking back now and then; the moon was not yet visible. The light grew brighter and brighter; one side of the valley was quite light. The shadows crept along the foot of the hill, drawing nearer to him. Jilin kept in the shadow. He hurried, but the moon moved faster than he; the hilltops on the right were already lit up. As he neared the wood, the moon rose over the hills, all white, and it grew as light as day. All the leaves on the trees could be seen distinctly. It was still and light on the hills; there was a dead silence, except for the murmur of the river below. He reached the wood without meeting any one. He chose a dark spot and sat down to rest. When he had rested a while and eaten a cake, he found a stone and once more tried to wrench the lock of the shackles. He cut his hands, but could not manage it. He rose and went on his way. After a mile he was quite worn out and his feet ached terribly. At every dozen steps or so he stopped. “It can’t be helped,” he thought. “I must drag myself on so long as my strength holds out, for if I once sit down I shan’t be able to get up again. I can’t reach the fortress to-night, that is obvious; as soon as it gets light I’ll hide in the wood and go on again when it gets dark.” He walked the whole night, meeting only two Tartars, but Jilin heard them from a distance and took refuge behind a tree. The moon began to pale; the dew fell; it was near dawn, but Jilin had not yet reached the end of the wood. “I’ll walk another thirty steps or so then I’ll creep into the thicket and sit down,” he thought. He covered the thirty steps and saw that he had come to the edge of the wood. When he came out it was quite light. Before him stretched the steppe and to the left, near the foot of a hill, he saw a dying fire from which the smoke rose and men were sitting about it. He looked intently; there was a flash of guns--they were soldiers, Cossacks! Jilin was overjoyed. He summoned his remaining strength and began to descend the hill, thinking, “God forbid that any mounted Tartar should see me now in the open field; though near my own people, I could not escape.”