"Surrender yourself, Ivan," said the official in the red-bordered cap.
"Let him take me who is tired of life," laughed the old man wildly, turning his gun-muzzle from one Cossack to another!
"Shoot him down!" cried the excited official. One of the riders raised his musket. A shot rang out. Ivan had fired and missed. The Cossack remained motionless and coolly fired in reply. "Hit!" he said in a low voice and turned away.
Ivan fell sideways on the snow, which at once took a red tinge under him. He lifted himself once more on his elbow and sank back again. Then he stretched himself at full length with his face turned upwards.
"Anjuta, my little dove!" his pale lips whispered. But she stood as though petrified; her old familiar expression, "I am afraid," died on her tongue.
The Cossacks approached the convict.
"How is he?" asked the official.
"It is all over with him, your honour."
The official took off his cap piously and crossed himself; the Cossacks followed his example.
Ivan lay quite still, gazing motionless up at the sky. Then the little girl awoke out of her stupor, threw herself on her knees beside him, and tried despairingly to lift him; her poor little body quivered like a bird in the death-struggle. "Grandfather! Wake up! It is I! Listen, Grandfather!"