“I wish to see my father again, if it be God’s will,” she said.
“Zorogoff is God,” said Shimilin.
She gave no reply.
“I warn you—you must submit to Zorogoff’s will.”
Still she gave no answer. The frost from the upper part of the window had melted away in the heat of the room, and the ridge of ice across the bottom of the panes was dripping water to the floor, like the ticking of a clock.
Katerin turned to the fire again. Her face was drawn as if she were crying but her eyes were free from tears and she made no sound.
There came the sound of dull thuds from the courtyard. Something was striking frozen ground with regular blows, and soon could be heard the sharp rasping of metal on stone.
Katerin moved as if she would get up to look out of the window, but seeing Shimilin standing in front of her as if he intended to block the way, she sank back on the bench. Her terror grew as she began to understand the meaning of the sounds outside.
“What is that?” she whispered to Shimilin. “Tell me! What is happening?”
“Come and see for yourself,” said Shimilin, and moved aside so that she might pass to the window.