save you, my little man," he replied.

The new-comer was a broad-faced, pleasant-looking fellow with a ready
grin, and black eyebrows that met above his nose. Malcolm Hay knew the
type, but to-day being for idleness, he did not dread the man's
loquacity as he would had it been a working day.

"My name is Gleb," introduced the man: "I come from the village of
Potchkoi where my father has seven cows and a bull."

"God give him prosperity and many calves," said Malcolm mechanically.

"Tell me, _gospodar_, do you ride into our holy city to-day?"

"Surely," said Malcolm.

"Then you will do well to avoid the Street of Black Mud," said Gleb.

Malcolm waited.

"I speak wisely because of my name," said the man with calm assurance;
"possibly your excellence has wondered why I should bear the same name
as the great saint who lies yonder," he pointed to one of the towering
belfries shimmering with gold that rose above the shoulder of a distant
hill. "I am Gleb, the son of Gleb, and it is said that we go back a
thousand years to the Holy Ones. Also, it was prophesied by a wise
woman," said the peasant, puffing out a cloud of smoke and crossing
himself at the same time, "that I should go the way of holiness and that
after my death my body should be incorruptible."

"All this is very interesting, little brother," said Malcolm with a
smile, "but first you must tell me why I should not go into the Street
of Black Mud."

The man laughed softly.

"Because of Israel Kensky," he said significantly.

You could not live within a hundred miles of Kieff and not know of
Israel Kensky. Malcolm realized with a start that he had not met the old
man since he left him in London.

"In what way has Israel Kensky offended?" asked Malcolm, understanding
the menace in the man's tone.

Gleb, squatting in the dust, brushed his sheepskin delicately with the
tips of his fingers.

"Little father," he said, "all men know Israel Kensky is a Jew and that
he practises secret devil-rites, using the blood of Christian children.
This is the way of Jews, as your lordship knows. Also he was seen on the
plains to shoot pigeons, which is a terrible offence, for to shoot a
pigeon is to kill the Holy Ghost."

Malcolm knew that the greater offence had not yet been stated and
waited.

"To-day I think they will kill him if the Grand Duke does not send his
soldiers to hold the people in check--or the Grand Duchess, his lovely
daughter who has spoken for