"That means, the people will be going to the mosque."
Again they sat down and hid under the wall.
They sat there long, waiting until the people should pass. Again it grew still.
"Now for our fate!"
They crossed themselves, and started.
They went across the dvor, and down the steep bank to the stream, crossed the stream, proceeded along the valley. The mist was thick, and closed in all around them, but above their heads the stars could still be seen.
Zhilin used the stars to guide him which way to go. It was cool in the mist, it was easy walking, only their boots were troublesome,—they were worn at the heels. Zhilin took his off, threw them away, and walked barefoot. He sprang from stone to stone, and kept glancing at the stars.
Kostuilin began to grow weary. "Go slower," says he; "my boots chafe me, my whole foot is raw."
"Then take them off, it will be easier."
Kostuilin began to go barefoot, but that was still worse; he kept scraping his feet on the stones and having to stop.