hat he ventured into the neighbourhood of human
dwellings, and looked about, like a wild animal, to see where he could
clamber in, and get some bread without awaking the dogs. On one occasion
hunger drove him into a cottage in the window of which he had seen a
candle burning. An old woman who was cowering down by the hearth was
paralysed by fear and began to tremble all over. What wonder? Who did
not know the yellow sign on the convict's back? He tried to speak
gently. "Don't fear, mother! Have you any bread?" But the old woman's
tongue could not move. So he looked for and found a crust of bread and
drank some water. He saw her desperate poverty and asked, "Have you got
no more bread?"

Then the old woman recovered herself a little. "Go!" she stammered;
"to-morrow I will get some more."

"Shall I take your last piece?" he said, left the crust lying on the
table and departed.

Another day he met a hunter in the forest and would probably have passed
him with an ordinary greeting, had not the latter pointed his gun at
him.

Then a cloud came before Ivan's eyes; he rushed at the stranger and tore
him down. His breath was soon choked out of him, and no one knew how
long his body lay in the forest before the wolves devoured it. He had
brought his death on himself. The fugitive was glad to get rid of his
convict's garb and now wore a coat of sheepskin. He also had a gun to
protect himself from wild beasts. If his hair had only been longer, he
had no need to go out of people's way.

O Liberty! His conscience was silent; no recollection of the blood which
he had shed stirred in him, or if it did occur to his mind, it troubled
him as little as it troubles a beast of prey. Men had always been the
old vagabond's worst enemies. He had grown up like a hungry, young dog,
a mark for missiles and kicks. He received little to eat and many blows,
and when hunger drove him to steal, he received more blows. In the house
of correction the priest spoke to him of the sufferings of Christ, of
repentance and reform. He listened gloomily and returned to his cell.
"Christ is gracious to sinners," he thought, "but who has ever been
gracious to me?"

After he had shed blood once, his soul seemed to become covered with a
hard crust. He became like an animal, escaped from prison when he could,
and no longer had a home. Since then his eyebrows were closely
contracted over his gloomy eyes, and he was filled with bitter hatred
against the whole w