He put up his hands and implored her, “Please, Dina! Be a dear and bring it!”
“I can’t,” she said; “they’ll catch me at home.” Then she went away.
In the evening Jilin sat in the pit wondering what would happen. He kept looking up; the stars were visible, but the moon had not yet risen. The Mullah’s call was heard, and all grew quiet. Jilin began to doze, thinking “The child is afraid.” Suddenly some clay dropped on to his head. He looked up, and saw a long pole poking into the opposite wall of the pit; it began to slide down. Jilin took hold of it and lowered it with a feeling of gladness at his heart. It was a stout, strong pole; he had noticed it many times on the roof of the master’s hut.
He looked up. The stars were shining high in the sky and above the pit Dina’s eyes gleamed in the darkness like a cat’s. She leant her head over the pit and whispered, “Ivan, Ivan!” making signs to him to speak low.
“What is it?” Jilin asked.
“They’ve all gone but two.”
“Come, Kostilin,” Jilin said; “let us try our luck for the last time; I’ll help you up.”
But Kostilin would not listen to him.
“No,” he said; “it seems that I can’t get away from here. How can I come when I’ve hardly strength enough to move?”
“Well, good-bye, then. Don’t think ill of me.”