life? Let him pay for
what I have suffered. But if I tell, they will probably flog the life
out of him, and maybe I suspect him wrongly. And, after all, what good
would it be to me?"

"Well, old man," repeated the Governor, "tell me the truth: who has
been digging under the wall?"

Aksionov glanced at Makar Semyonich, and said, "I cannot say, your
honour. It is not God's will that I should tell! Do what you like with
me; I am your hands."

However much the Governor! tried, Aksionov would say no more, and so
the matter had to be left.

That night, when Aksionov was lying on his bed and just beginning to
doze, some one came quietly and sat down on his bed. He peered through
the darkness and recognised Makar.

"What more do you want of me?" asked Aksionov. "Why have you come
here?"

Makar Semyonich was silent. So Aksionov sat up and said, "What do you
want? Go away, or I will call the guard!"

Makar Semyonich bent close over Aksionov, and whispered, "Ivan
Dmitrich, forgive me!"

"What for?" asked Aksionov.

"It was I who killed the merchant and hid the knife among your things.
I meant to kill you too, but I heard a noise outside, so I hid the
knife in your bag and escaped out of the window."

Aksionov was silent, and did not know what to say. Makar Semyonich
slid off the bed-shelf and knelt upon the ground. "Ivan Dmitrich,"
said he, "forgive me! For the love of God, forgive me! I will confess
that it was I who killed the merchant, and you will be released and
can go to your home."

"It is easy for you to talk," said Aksionov, "but I have suffered for
you these twenty-six years. Where could I go to now?... My wife is
dead, and my children have forgotten me. I have nowhere to go..."

Makar Semyonich did not rise, but beat his head on the floor. "Ivan
Dmitrich, forgive me!" he cried. "When they flogged me with the knot
it was not so hard to bear as it is to see you now ... yet you had
pity on me, and did not tell. For Christ's sake forgive me, wretch
that I am!" And he began to sob.

When Aksionov heard him sobbing he, too, began to weep. "God will
forgive you!" said he. "Maybe I am a hundred times worse than you."
And at these words his heart grew light, and the longing for home left
him. He no longer had any desire to leave the prison, but only hoped
for his last hour to come.

In spite of what Aksionov had said, Makar Semyonich confessed, his
guilt. But when the order for his release came, Aksionov was