do."

Lanovitch's broad face lightened up; his benevolent brow beamed. His
capacity for work had brought him to the shoemaker's last in Tomsk. It
is a vice that grows with indulgence.

"It has pleased the Authorities," went on Paul, who was shy of religious
turns of phrase, "to give us all our own troubles. Mine--such as they
are, Stepan--must be managed by myself. Yours can be faced by no one but
you. You have come at the right moment. You do not quite realize what
your coming means to Catrina."

"Catrina! Ah!"

The weak blue eyes looked into the strong face and read nothing there.

"I doubt," said Paul, "whether it is right for you to continue
sacrificing Catrina for the sake of the little good that you are able to
do. You are hampered in your good work to such an extent that the result
is very small, while the pain you give is very great."

"But is that so, Pavlo? Is my child unhappy?"

"I fear so," replied Paul gravely, with his baffling self-restraint.
"She has not much in common with her mother, you understand."

"Ah, yes!"

"It is you to whom she is attached. Sometimes it is so with children and
parents. One cannot tell why."

Steinmetz looked as if he could supply information upon the subject: but
he remained silent, standing, as it were, in an acquiescent attitude.

"You have fought your fight," said Paul. "A good fight, too. You have
struck your blow for the country. You have sown your seed, but the
harvest is not yet. Now it is time to think of your own safety, of the
happiness of your own child."

Stepan Lanovitch turned away and sat heavily down. He leaned his two
arms on the table, and his chin upon his clenched hands.

"Why not leave the country now; at all events for a few years?" went on
Paul, and when a man who is accustomed to command stoops to persuade, it
is strong persuasion that he wields. "You can take Catrina with you. You
will be assuring her happiness, which, at all events, is something
tangible--a present harvest! I will drive over to Thors now and bring
her back. You can leave to-night and go to America."

Stepan Lanovitch raised his head and looked hard into Paul's face.

"You wish it?"

"I think," answered Paul steadily, "that it is for Catrina's happiness."

Then Lanovitch rose up and took Paul's hand in his work-stained grip.

"Go, my son! It will be a great happiness to me. I will wait here," he
said.

Paul went straight to the door. He was a man with a capacity f