The gray old head of Michael snapped forward, the wisps of white hair waving gently. His eyes bored into Wassili while waiting for the moujik to answer.
“Ilya Andreitch told me but little, master. At first I thought he was drunk and did not trust him. And when I told him that he must tell me, he said he would talk with no one but Excellence, and that it was secret. Thus I would not bring him up till you had given the order for his coming.”
“Then he is below now? Bring him up, and hasten, for we have no time to lose. Zorogoff may be here again with the light of morning and I am but now writing what shall be done when he has killed me. We must see this American officer with all speed before the Ataman is able to balk him. By the Holy Saints! This will save my daughter from death—for she will die before she submits to the will of this Mongol brigand! Go! Bring Ilya Andreitch before me and we shall hear his say!”
Wassili ran out into the hall and down the stairs, well pleased with the results of his report to his master, for he had feared that he had made a mistake in admitting Ilya at all.
Michael and Katerin could scarcely wait for Ilya to come up. The news of deliverance from their dangers—safety so close at hand after long weary months of hiding and worry—came like a pardon to two who were condemned to death. It had been five days since the Ataman had left them. He was still torturing them, for his threat against Katerin would undoubtedly be carried out unless she killed herself. They knew that Zorogoff would attempt to take them to his “palace” in revenge for their insults. And they had planned to die together rather than to permit the Mongol to carry out his evil purpose. That was the only way in which they could defeat him.
“Our letter to the Baranoffs got through,” said Michael. “It is they who have sent this American.”
“And do you think he will come here—to-night?” asked Katerin, her pale, drawn face alight with the joy of escape. “I cannot believe yet that we are to be safe again! God has answered my prayers! My father, I had given up hope!”
“Perhaps Ilya brings a letter from the American officer,” said Michael. “If he has sent word to us by Ilya, he must have also given Ilya something so that we shall know the American comes from friends. We cannot delay. If the Ataman should hear of this American——”
“They are coming up,” said Katerin, and they heard Wassili and Ilya mounting the stairs. Soon the light of a shaking candle appeared down the hall, and Katerin threw open the door of the room.
Wassili blew out the candle when he entered, and thrust Ilya in ahead of him.