gan to pace the room. He forgot the woman on the
floor. "Oh, fatherland! My fatherland!" he cried in a voice broken
with passionate grief, "must I sacrifice these too for thee? God in
heaven! Father, mother, brother, home, wife, all I have given. Must
I give my children, too?" His strong dark face was working
fiercely. His voice came harsh and broken. "No, no! By all the
saints, no! I will keep my children for Olga's sake. I will let my
wretched country go. What matter to me? I will make a new home in
this free land and forget. Ah, God! Forget? I can never forget!
These plains!" He tore aside the quilt from the window and stooping
looked out upon the prairie. "These plains say Russia! This
gleaming snow, Russia! Ah! Ah! Ah! I cannot forget, while I live,
my people, my fatherland. I have suffered too much to forget. God
forget me, if I forget!" He fell on his knees before the window,
dry sobs shaking his powerful frame. He rose and began again
to stride up and down, his hands locked before him. Suddenly he
stood quite still, making mighty efforts to regain command of
himself. For some moments he stood thus rigid.

The woman, who had been kneeling all the while, crept to his feet.

"My lord will give his children to me," she said in a low voice.

"You!" he cried, drawing back from her. "You! What could you do for them?"

"I could die for them," she said simply, "and for my lord."

"For me! Ha!" His voice carried unutterable scorn.

She cowered back to the floor.

"My children I can slay, but I will leave them in no house of lust."

"Oh!" she cried, clasping her hands upon her breast and swaying
backwards and forwards upon her knees, "I will be a good woman.
I will sin no more. Rosenblatt I shall send--"

"Rosenblatt!" cried the man with a fierce laugh. "After two days
Rosenblatt will not be here."

"You will--?" gasped the woman.

"He will die," said the man quietly.

"Oh, my lord! Let me kill him! It would be easy for me at night
when he sleeps. But you they will take and hang. In this country
no one escapes. Oh! Do not you kill him. Let me."

Breathlessly she pleaded, holding him by the feet. He spurned her
with contempt.

"Peace, fool! He is for none other than me. It is an old score.
Ah, yes," he continued between his teeth, "it is an old score.
It will be sweet to feel him slowly die with my fingers in
his throat."

"But they will take you," cried the woman.

"Bah! They could not hold me in Siber