t somebody creeping near, just as he himself had
often crept when on a thievish expedition? His heart beat violently as
though it would burst; he stuffed a handful of snow in his mouth in
order to quench the burning sensations within him.

There! Were those not voices? Did Andryushka Lasaref wish to take the
skins at once, and had he brought the child with him? But there seemed
to be several people, and he heard distinctly the beat of the horses'
hoofs.

He ought to have been glad perhaps, but his heart felt painfully
contracted. What a wolf's life his was, spent in perpetual mistrust and
fear! Now he could distinguish Anjuta's merry tones ... and now
something came forward from between the trees.

"You come to fetch my soul," cried Ivan with his hair bristling.

The four Cossacks halted on the clearing before the hut.

"Good evening, Grandfather! Grandfather! here I am!"

But what was the matter? Her Grandfather rushed into the hut and
re-appeared with his gun in his hand. And he was hardly recognizable
with his threatening eyes in his distorted face.

"Come now! No jokes, Ivan the Runaway," exclaimed the kind stout
gentleman. "You know you only make matters worse. Throw away your gun,
or I will have you knouted."

"Your honour has taken the trouble to come here for the sake of my poor
soul," said the old man with a grim smile. His eye fell on Anjuta.

"You have betrayed me, you vermin!" he snarled.

The convict had awoken in him.

"Surrender yourself, Ivan," said the official in the red-bordered cap.

"Let him take me who is tired of life," laughed the old man wildly,
turning his gun-muzzle from one Cossack to another!

"Shoot him down!" cried the excited official. One of the riders raised
his musket. A shot rang out. Ivan had fired and missed. The Cossack
remained motionless and coolly fired in reply. "Hit!" he said in a low
voice and turned away.

Ivan fell sideways on the snow, which at once took a red tinge under
him. He lifted himself once more on his elbow and sank back again. Then
he stretched himself at full length with his face turned upwards.

"Anjuta, my little dove!" his pale lips whispered. But she stood as
though petrified; her old familiar expression, "I am afraid," died on
her tongue.

The Cossacks approached the convict.

"How is he?" asked the official.

"It is all over with him, your honour."

The official took off his cap piously and crossed himself; the Cossacks
followed hi