s; while hither and thither on the wall of the hut, the
cracks and holes in the crumbling plaster have caused the wall to
resemble the map of an unknown country.

Glancing at the woman's dark eyes, I perceive them to be shining as
pensively, innocently as the eyes of a young maiden.

"You are indeed a curious woman!" I remark.

"Perhaps I am," she replies as she moistens her lips with a slender,
almost feline tongue.

"What are you really seeking?"

"I have considered the matter, and know, at last, my mind. It is this:
I hope some day to fall in with a good muzhik with whom to go in search
of land. Probably land of the kind, I mean, is to be found in the
neighbourhood of New Athos, [A monastery in the Caucasus, built on the
reputed site of a cave tenanted by Simeon the Canaanite] for I have
been there already, and know of a likely spot for the purpose. And
there we shall set our place in order, and lay out a garden and an
orchard, and prepare as much plough land as we may need for our
working."

Her words are now firmer, more assured.

"And when we have put everything in order, other folk may join us; and
then, as the oldest settlers in the place, we shall hold the position
of honour. And thus things will continue until a new village, really a
fine settlement, will have become formed--a settlement of which my
husband will be selected the warden until such time as I shall have
made of him a barin [Gentleman or squire] outright. Also, children may
one day play in that garden, and a summer-house be built there. Ah, how
delightful such a life appears!"

In fact, she has planned out the future so thoroughly that already she
can describe the new establishment in as much detail as though she has
long been a resident in it.

"Yes, I yearn indeed for a nice home!" she continues. "Oh that such a
home could fall to my lot! But the first requisite, of course, is a
muzhik."

Her gentle face and eyes peer into the waning night as though they
aspire to caress everything upon which they may light.

And all the while I am feeling sorry for her--sorry almost to tears. To
conceal the fact I murmur:

"Should I myself suit you?"

She gives a faint laugh.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because the ideas in your mind are different from mine."

"How do you know what my ideas are?"

She edges away from me a little, then says drily:

"Because I can see them in your eyes. To be plain, I could never
consent."

With a finger tapp