by Ivan Ogareff, and consequently that of Marfa
Strogoff.

If Nadia had been less energetic, she would have succumbed to this
double blow. The interruption to her journey, the death of Michael,
made her both desperate and excited. Divided, perhaps forever, from her
father, after so many happy efforts had brought her near him, and, to
crown her grief, separated from the intrepid companion whom God seemed
to have placed in her way to lead her. The image of Michael Strogoff,
struck before her eyes with a lance and disappearing beneath the waters
of the Irtych, never left her thoughts.

Could such a man have died thus? For whom was God reserving His miracles
if this good man, whom a noble object was urging onwards, had been
allowed to perish so miserably? Then anger would prevail over grief. The
scene of the affront so strangely borne by her companion at the Ichim
relay returned to her memory. Her blood boiled at the recollection.

"Who will avenge him who can no longer avenge himself?" she said.

And in her heart, she cried, "May it be I!" If before his death Michael
had confided his secret to her, woman, aye girl though she was, she
might have been able to carry to a successful conclusion the interrupted
task of that brother whom God had so soon taken from her.

Absorbed in these thoughts, it can be understood how Nadia could remain
insensible to the miseries even of her captivity. Thus chance had united
her to Marfa Strogoff without her having the least suspicion of who she
was. How could she imagine that this old woman, a prisoner like herself,
was the mother of him, whom she only knew as the merchant Nicholas
Korpanoff? And on the other hand, how could Marfa guess that a bond of
gratitude connected this young stranger with her son?

The thing that first struck Nadia in Marfa Strogoff was the similarity
in the way in which each bore her hard fate. This stoicism of the old
woman under the daily hardships, this contempt of bodily suffering,
could only be caused by a moral grief equal to her own. So Nadia
thought; and she was not mistaken. It was an instinctive sympathy for
that part of her misery which Marfa did not show which first drew Nadia
towards her. This way of bearing her sorrow went to the proud heart of
the young girl. She did not offer her services; she gave them. Marfa
had neither to refuse nor accept them. In the difficult parts of the
journey, the girl was there to support her. When the provisions were