lf a copeck--a
quarter, only a little quarter! Ah! Rioumka vodki[1]--rioumka--vodki!"

The police brushed her aside and searched the room. In the corner was
a low cot, hanging on a nail was an old cloak; on the table the remains
of a black loaf and an empty cup. They searched and searched in vain;
tapping the walls, tearing at the stone foundations, peering up at the
rafters, tumbling over one another in their eagerness.

"Chort vozmi[2]--!" shouted the captain, "We are on the wrong track.
The scream came from the other side. Head them off! Run, men, run!
Here, this passage, and then straight ahead! Devil take the old
beggar! Shut up, you hag, or I'll strangle you!--Head them off!"

Gradually the hurrying footsteps died away in the distance. The
shouting ceased on the stairs. It was still as the grave, silent,
deserted. The old woman glanced over her shoulder. She was still
crouching before the Icon, rocking herself backwards and forwards; the
beads of the rosary slipping through her fingers one by one; mumbling
to herself.

Suddenly she stopped and listened. The rosary fell to the floor. Her
eyes watched the wreckage of the doorway closely, suspiciously, like an
animal before a trap. The shadows encircled her, they were here,
there, everywhere; but none moved, none crept.

Snatching a slip of paper from her bosom, she bent over it, her eyes
dilated, her mouth twisted with agony. In the centre of the paper,
clearly graven against the white, was a Black Cross.

She moaned aloud, wringing her hands. Her teeth gnawed her lips. She
clung to the foot of the Icon, sobbing, struggling with herself,
glancing around fearfully into the shadows. A gleam from the candle
fell on her hood; it had slipped slightly and a strand of her hair hung
from under the cowl. It sparkled like gold.

She staggered to her feet, still sobbing and trembling, catching her
breath. Then she went to the nail on the wall and took down the cloak.
The woman stood alone in the midst of the shadows; they were heavy,
motionless. Glancing to right and left, behind her, to the wreckage of
the door, to the furthermost corner, back to the Icon again, her eyes
roved, darting from side to side like a creature hunted. Clasping the
cloak to her quivering bosom she approached the candle slowly,
stealthily. Her steps faltered. She hesitated. She stooped
forward--another glance over her shoulder, and blowing with feeble
breath, the spark