She got up and started to cross so that she might look out. But she had not gone half the distance, when she stopped at hearing Wassili screaming below stairs.
“Mistress! Mistress! The soldiers are——”
But Wassili’s cries were checked. There were sounds of a scuffle, followed by harsh warnings from soldiers that the moujik must be still.
Katerin ran to the window. As she looked below, she gave a gurgling cry as if she had been struck in the mouth, and put her hands up to her face to shut out the sight of what she saw. For below in the courtyard her father was working with a shovel and throwing up broken, frozen, brown earth. A soldier was breaking the ground with a pick. And about the workers stood a large group of soldiers with their rifles, watching Kirsakoff dig a grave!
Katerin backed away from the window, sobbing, and threw herself upon a bench.
“You submit to Zorogoff or you die—both of you!” said Shimilin. “There is yet time to save your father.”
Katerin stood up and faced Shimilin.
“You have betrayed us!” she cried. “There is no truth in you, you are not worthy of trust! Death is better than life where there is no honor, no truth, no faith in any man!” She turned her back upon the Cossack, and held out her arms to the icon of the Virgin Mother. “Mercy on the soul that goes to greet you—mercy, mercy, oh Mother of God!”
A whistle broke shrilly on the cold air outside. Shimilin leaped at Katerin, and grasping her by the shoulders, swung her round and thrust her at the window.
“Look!” he commanded. “If you can be so stubborn! Look, and see if you still wish to disobey the orders of the Ataman!”