“Have no fear of me, Michael Alexandrovitch,” said Shimilin. “You, nor your daughter need have no fear of me.”
Peter glanced at Shimilin in surprise, for the Cossack captain was strangely gentle and sympathetic for a man who might be expected to take vengeance for the slaying of his chief.
“I saved you both from Zorogoff, the time at the house,” said Shimilin. “It was I who prevented an execution because you would not give up your money. If you had trusted me and given me the money, I would have protected you, for I could have been Ataman then—as I am the Ataman now.”
“You have succeeded Zorogoff?” asked Peter, in startled amazement.
“I am the new Ataman,” repeated Shimilin. “We Cossacks had a plot, but all was not ready——”
“God’s blessing—on—my little——”
Michael’s head fell forward upon his chest, and he was dead.
Katerin gave a wailing cry and put her hands tenderly upon the cheeks of her father. Peter and Shimilin turned away to leave her with her dead, while Slipitsky stole out into the other room to return with the icon from the corner in which stood Michael’s bed. The Jew put the sacred image into the wasted hands of him who had been Michael Alexandrovitch Kirsakoff, governor and general of the Czars in the Valley of Despair.