ettled?"

"Yes, it's my right."

"To prison again?" Pavel was silent. "Is it not possible for you--"
She stopped.

"What?"

"To give it up to somebody else?"

"No!" he said aloud.

"Think of it! You're a man of such influence; you are so much
liked--you and Nakhodka are the two foremost revolutionary workers
here. Think how much you could accomplish for the cause of freedom!
You know that for this they'll send you off far, far, and for a long
time!"

Nilovna thought she heard in the girl's voice the familiar sound of
fear and anguish, and her words fell upon the mother's heart like
heavy, icy drops of water.

"No, I have made up my mind. Nothing can make me give it up!"

"Not even if I beg you--if I----"

Pavel suddenly began to speak rapidly with a peculiar sternness.

"You ought not to speak that way. Why you? You ought not!"

"I am a human being!" she said in an undertone.

"A good human being, too!" he said also in an undertone, and in a
peculiar voice, as if unable to catch his breath. "You are a dear
human being to me, yes! And that's why--why you mustn't talk that way!"

"Good-by!" said the girl.

The mother heard the sound of her departing footsteps, and knew that
she was walking away very fast, nay, almost running. Pavel followed
her into the yard.

A heavy oppressive fear fell like a load on the mother's breast. She
did not understand what they had been talking about, but she felt that
a new misfortune was in store for her, a great and sad misfortune. And
her thoughts halted at the question, "What does he want to do?" Her
thoughts halted, and were driven into her brain like a nail. She stood
in the kitchen by the oven, and looked through the window into the
profound, starry heaven.

Pavel walked in from the yard with Andrey, and the Little Russian said,
shaking his head:

"Oh, Isay, Isay! What's to be done with him?"

"We must advise him to give up his project," said Pavel glumly.

"Then he'll hand over those who speak to him to the authorities," said
the Little Russian, flinging his hat away in a corner.

"Pasha, what do you want to do?" asked the mother, drooping her head.

"When? Now?"

"The first of May--the first of May."

"Aha!" exclaimed Pavel, lowering his voice. "You heard! I am going to
carry our banner. I will march with it at the head of the procession.
I suppose they'll put me in prison for it again."

The mother's eyes began to burn. An unpleasa