But she shook her head, and would not look at them. "I can't take them," said she. She said nothing more for a time, but sat there: then she said, "Iván, they want to kill you."
She made a significant motion across her throat.
"Who wants to kill me?"
"Father. The old man has ordered him to. But I am sorry for you."
And Zhilin said, "Well, then, if you are sorry for me, bring me a long stick." She shook her head, meaning that it was impossible.
He clasped his hands in supplication to her. "Dina, please! Bring one to me, Dínushka!"
"I can't," said she. "They would see me; they are all at home." And she ran away.
Afterwards, Zhilin was sitting there in the evening, and wondering what he should do. He kept raising his eyes. He could see the stars, but the moon was not yet up. The mulla uttered his call, then all became silent.
Zhilin began already to doze, thinking to himself, "The little maid is afraid."
Suddenly a piece of clay fell on his head; he glanced up; a long pole was sliding over the edge of the pit, it slid out, began to descend toward him, it reached the bottom of the pit. Zhilin was delighted. He seized it, pulled it along,—it was a strong pole. He had noticed it before on Abdul's roof.