eil of
your lashes and your heart beats fast, you are a woman. And now--you
are--what are you, Kaya? A young knight watching beside his shield!"

He hesitated, and passed his hand over his brows, and looked at her
again; then he moved away slowly and began to lay the things in his
knapsack. "They are all boys' things," he said, "but you are a boy;
they will do for you too."

"Yes," she said.

He laughed a little unsteadily. "There is money in my belt; now the
knapsack is ready, my violin--and that is all. It is nearly eleven.
Come--Kaya."

He turned his head away without looking at her; he approached the door
slowly. The girl sat still in the chair.

"Are you coming?"

There was silence; then he turned on his heel, and went back to her,
and laid his hand on her shoulder. "Kaya," he said, whispering as if
someone could hear, "Are you afraid? Why are you afraid to come with
me, dear brother musician, dear comrade?" His voice broke. "I will
take care of you. You said you would trust me, Kaya."

The girl clasped his arm with a cry: "I am not afraid for myself," she
said, "but for you--you, Velasco. Leave me before it is too late.
There is time for the train, just time. I implore you to go!"

She trembled and raised her eyes to his. "If anything should happen,
and you suffered for me, I couldn't bear it. Leave me--Velasco!"

He put out his hand and took hers, crushing it in his own strength. He
did not speak but he drew her forward, and she followed him dumbly,
quietly, without resistance; her head drooping, the cap on the back of
her yellow curls; the lashes hiding her eyes, fringing her cheek.

He took the Stradivarius under his arm. The door closed and they
started out, hesitating, looking back over their shoulders; stealing
down the stairs like two frightened children hand in hand.

CHAPTER X

The first pale streaks of dawn were creeping slowly up from the horizon,
piercing the darkness of night with faint, far-away shafts of light, like
arrows silver-tipped, shot from an unseen quiver. In the distance, the
snow fields stretched limitless and vast, and between them the road wound
in and out, narrow and dark, like a coiled serpent amid the whiteness.

Here and there an occasional black-roofed farm house reared its head;
across the snow came the sudden gleam of an ice covered pond; while afar
off, to the left, the domes of Belaia rose dark and mysterious in their
roundness, like a pa