For ever.
XXIX.—THE HEROIC SERF.
In the dark forests of Russia, where the snow lies on the ground for eight months in the year, wolves roam about in countless troops; and it is a fearful thing for the traveller, especially if night overtakes him, to hear their famished howlings as they approach nearer and nearer to him.
A Russian nobleman, with his wife and a young daughter, was travelling in a sleigh over a bleak plain. About nightfall they reached an inn, and the nobleman called for a relay of horses to go on. The innkeeper begged him not to proceed. “There is danger ahead,” said he: “the wolves are out.” The traveller thought the object of the man was to keep him as a guest for the night, and, saying it was too early in the season for wolves, ordered the horses to be put to. In spite of the repeated warnings of the landlord, the party proceeded on their way.
The driver was a serf who had been born on the nobleman’s estate, and who loved his master as he loved his life. The sleigh sped swiftly over the hard snow, and there seemed no signs of danger. The moon began to shed her light, so that the road seemed like polished silver.
Suddenly the little girl said to her father, “What is that strange, dull sound I heard just now?” Her father replied, “Nothing but the wind sighing through the trees.”
The child shut her eyes, and kept still for a while; but in a few minutes, with a face pale with fear, she turned to her father, and said, “Surely that is not the wind: I hear it again; do you not hear it too? Listen!” The nobleman listened, and far, far away in the distance behind him, but distinct enough in the clear, frosty air, he heard a sound of which he knew the meaning, though those who were with him did not.
Whispering to the serf, he said, “They are after us. Get ready your musket and pistols; I will do the same. We may yet escape. Drive on! drive on!”