Shimilin scowled in disappointment, and seemed to have more to say, but evidently thought better of it.
“You will have a glass of tea with us,” said Michael. “My house is poor, but no man goes from it without——”
“No!” shouted Shimilin. “I will not have it from you. You do not trust me!” and he stepped to the door and flung it open. The two soldiers came back into the room.
“Kirsakoff, you must go with these men,” said Shimilin.
“What!” cried Michael. “I am to go? Where am I to go?”
“Before the Ataman. It is his orders,” said Shimilin quietly, and folded his arms.
“Does this mean that my father has been arrested?” gasped Katerin, staring in horror at the Cossack.
“Call it what you like,” grunted Shimilin.
“But arrested for what? For being poor? You mean that my father is to be taken away by soldiers and no charge is made against him?” pressed Katerin, now aware that disaster had come.
“Get ready to go, and say no more, Kirsakoff,” said Shimilin. “I shall stay here with your daughter.”