or Thors is on the
Chorno-Ziom--the belt of black and fertile soil that runs right across
the vast empire.

Karl Steinmetz, a dogged watcher of the Wandering Jew--the deathless
scoffer at our Lord's agony, who shall never die, who shall leave
cholera in his track wherever he may wander--Karl Steinmetz knew that
the Oster was in itself a Wandering Jew. This river meandered through
the lonesome country, bearing cholera germs within its waters. Whenever
Osterno had cholera it sent it down the river to Thors, and so on to the
Volga.

Thors lay groaning under the scourge, and the Countess Lanovitch shut
herself within her stone walls, shivering with fear, begging her
daughter to return to Petersburg.

It was nearly dark when Karl Steinmetz and the Moscow doctor rode into
the little village, to find the starosta, a simple Russian farmer,
awaiting them outside the kabak.

Steinmetz knew the man, and immediately took command of the situation
with that unquestioned sense of authority which in Russia places the
barin on much the same footing as that taken by the Anglo-Indian in our
eastern empire.

"Now, starosta," he said, "we have only an hour to spend in Thors. This
is the Moscow doctor. If you listen to what he tells you, you will soon
have no sickness in the village. The worst houses first--and quickly.
You need not be afraid, but if you do not care to come in, you may stay
outside."

As they walked down the straggling village-street the Moscow doctor told
the starosta in no measured terms, as was his wont, wherein lay the
heart of the sickness. Here, as in Osterno, dirt and neglect were at the
base of all the trouble. Here, as in the larger village, the houses were
more like the abode of four-footed beasts than the dwellings of human
beings.

The starosta prudently remained outside the first house to which he
introduced the visitors. Paul went fearlessly in, while Steinmetz stood
in the door-way, holding open the door.

As he was standing there he perceived a flickering light approaching
him. The light was evidently that of an ordinary hand-lantern, and from
the swinging motion it was easy to divine that it was being carried by
some one who was walking quickly.

"Who is this?" asked Steinmetz.

"It is likely to be the Countess Catrina, Excellency."

Steinmetz glanced back into the cottage, which was dark save for the
light of a single petroleum lamp. Paul's huge form could be dimly
distinguished bending over