“I know that you want me—not for a promise—but for myself—Peter——”
“O God!” he cried, “I know now I am forgiven!” and he crushed her to him.
Presently there came a knocking at the door of Katerin’s room, and the old serving woman came when Katerin called to her to enter.
“Tell Wassili to pack my baggage,” said Katerin. “We are all going to Vladivostok—at once.”
“But let Wassili first go for a priest,” said Peter. “And do not cry, my love—we shall both say farewell forever to the Valley of Despair, and our journey’s end shall be America—our America.”
“America!” she whispered, looking through the window as if her eyes saw behind the fog-banks a strange land. “What a wonderful country America must be!”
“You cannot know till you have seen,” said Peter.
“I know now,” she replied, smiling through her tears, “I know now, Peter Petrovitch.”
“How can you know, my love?”
“Because—I know a Russian who became an American—the son of a bootmaker—a bootmaker who was an unfortunate—a poor boy——”