y in groups towards the neighboring village to
the church. He noticed that Evila was among them. He examined her
critically and in cold blood, and he came to quite a scientific
conclusion as to the peculiar character of her beauty, which showed a
mixture of races. The small hands and feet, the slender form, the
narrow forehead, the finely cut nose, the silky black hair--all spoke
the Indian or Hindoo type; but the short upper lip and the long,
serpent-like eyebrows were derivable from some Slav ancestor. The
starry, seductive eyes were decidedly Eastern, the chin and the
coloring recalled the Malay race, and the quick, sudden rising of the
red blood to the velvet cheek the Caucasian--for this people blush
constantly, owing to the cellular texture being fine almost to
transparency.

Ivan pondered on all this as Evila passed him; he wondered also why
her lover was not with her, for this was an established custom in
Bondavara. Peter, however, evidently did not mind these rules of
courtship; he was lounging on one of the benches outside the gates of
the ventilation-oven, close to the pitmouth, his head in the air, his
chin in his hand.

Ivan went to him. "Good-morning, Peter. What are you doing there, my
man?"

"I am listening to the wind that is coming from below."

"Why don't you go to church?"

"Because I never pray at all."

"And why not?"

"I do nobody any harm. I neither rob nor murder, and if there is a
God, He knows better than I do what is good for me."

"You are quite wrong there, Peter. In these matters there is an
immense difference between educated people and what are called the
children of Nature. I have my science and thought to fall back on--my
intellect is my guide, and preserves me from temptation; but with you,
and men like you, it is otherwise. Those who have no other knowledge
but what concerns their daily labor have need of faith, of hope, of
consolation, and of forgiveness." As he spoke, Ivan seated himself
beside the other and laid his hand upon his shoulder. "Something is on
your mind, Peter?"

Peter nodded. "There is something."

"Does it weigh on your soul?"

"On my soul, on my body--everywhere!"

"Is it a secret, Peter?"

"No, it is not. If you care to hear it, I will tell it you."

"A murder?"

"Worse than that."

"Don't you think you had better not tell it to me? It may place you in
danger."

"There is no danger for me. If it were published on the Market Cross,
the law