Thus, then, was the diabolical work to be completed. For Satan is not wont to betray those who are true to him.

But had Feodor really been true to him?

Had he not, he asked himself, secretly sinned against his master and his religion in suffering beside him a human creature who whispered a prayer to Heaven before laying her head upon her pillow?

And was that head really on the pillow now? Was Mashinka really asleep?

Might not she have heard all that had just been spoken—all those frightful things which she could not hitherto have imagined? ... Might not she betray him?

With these thoughts rushing confusedly through his brain, Feodor took the lamp in his hand and entered the next room. The woman lay before him with closed eyes. He threw the lamp-light on her face. Her hands were clasped across her breast, which gently rose and fell.

Something whispered to him that the woman must die. She might have heard everything and might only be feigning sleep.

He set down the lamp. Placing one hand over her heart, he held in the other a keen dagger, so that its point just touched her breast. Had but a single quickened beat betrayed that she was aware of the danger so near her, the weapon would have pierced her heart. But Mashinka lay perfectly still.

Presently a smile flitted across her face, and her lips began to mutter words as sleepers often do in dreams.

"Do not tickle me so with the blade of grass, Shasha," she murmured coyly.The Apostle of Dago had not the heart to drive the blade of steel into her bosom.

But something within him admonished him.

"Thou art not wholly mine," said the voice; "a single good feeling yet lingers within thee! By it thou art corrupted—thou art lost!"

Yet he could not kill her.

He consoled himself with the thought that she must certainly have been asleep and could, therefore, have heard nothing. It would be sufficient, he reflected, to take the precaution of securing the key of the door which opened on the outside steps leading down to the garden. Mashinka and the two lads would thus be all securely locked in.

He left the room and went up to the observatory.

Mashinka was not asleep. She had heard every word.

With almost superhuman strength she had fought down the terror that rose within her, and was able to appear asleep even while the dagger was pointed at her heart by the hand of the man whom she now knew in all his infamy.

She sprang from the bed as soon as the sound of Feodor's footsteps had died away, rushed to the little room where the two sleeping boys lay clasping each other's hands, and called them.

"Wake, children, wake!" she cried in despair; "prepare yourselves for death—it is close at hand!"

She then hastily told them all she had heard.

"And you are to be made to fight each other to death before your fathers' eyes!" she exclaimed as she concluded.

Alexander and Paul tremblingly embraced each other. It was not the thought of death that made them tremble, but the thought that their fathers should hate each other so.

"Oh! if you could but fly from here!" cried Mashinka.

"But how?" exclaimed Alexander. "Ah!—the door to the garden! Impossible—it is locked!"

"Here!" cried Mashinka suddenly; "through this window you can reach the garden—then over the outer wall and on to the rocks on the shore! There you will find a boat. In it you may reach the ship."

"But you—you must come with us too," they cried together.

But Mashinka had already begun to cut up the bed-clothes and tie the pieces together into a stout rope. The clothes were not long enough. Swiftly she passed into the dining-room, and cut off the bell-cord which hung from the ceiling. With this the rope was soon completed.

The night was dark and favoured the flight of the fugitives.