tep cross the
floor, then the noise of a bar being removed as a woman opened the door
cautiously and peered into our faces. Bent as she was with age, with
hair that hung in white masses about her shoulders, there was an
unsubdued look which rested upon us from her dark eyes that contrasted
forcibly with the dull, patient glance of the average Russian peasant.

"Who is it crossing the plains? Are you servants of the Czar?" she
asked, in a tone of hesitation at our unexpected appearance, and
glancing strangely at Hassan, who had secured our steeds and joined us.

"We are travellers crossing the Siberian wastes with our guide, and
come to you for shelter," I answered, although we had a deeper purpose
in visiting her.

"It is yours," the woman replied, and having shaken our sheepskin wraps,
we entered the hut and accepted the invitation to gather about the
pine-wood fire which burnt in one corner of the rude dwelling.

"You are not a Russian peasant?" remarked Denviers, in a tone of
inquiry, for the woman spoke English with some fluency.

"I am not, for my people are the Lost Ones, of whom you may have heard,"
she answered, with a dreary smile.

"We do not understand you," Denviers responded, as we waited for her
explanation.

"If you were men of this country my words would be lucid enough. Among
all those who were overcome in the many Polish struggles for liberty,
none have ever returned who once trod the road by which the exiles
passed to join those whom we call Our Lost."

"You have a motive for living here?" I remarked quietly, watching
attentively to see what effect my words would have upon her.

"I am friendless and alone, choosing rather to dwell here within sight
of the way to Tomsk, than in the great city from which I came. The Czar
is merciful, and permits this."

"Then the mujik who directed us here was mistaken," I persisted. "He
related strange stories to us of fugitives, whom the peasants
whisper----"

"Hush!" she cried, looking nervously round. "What was the mujik's name?"
For reply I placed in her hand a scrap of paper, upon which the man had
scrawled a message. She glanced keenly at us after reading the missive,
then answered:--

"He may be mistaken in you, for you are Englishmen, and do not
understand these things. A piece of black bread--what is it that it
should be denied to an enemy, even of the Czar, who has escaped from the
mines and wanders for refuge over these frozen wastes?"

"You