DEMYAN'S TIDINGS
THE weeks of winter crept slowly by. But at last the thaw came, and the
hut the men had occupied was deluged with melting snow.
By this time the new settlers had become favourably known to the
inhabitants, and there was no difficulty in getting temporary lodgings
whilst they repaired the haunted hut. With the coming of the spring,
fresh hope and energy took possession of them. But their funds, however
carefully husbanded, were melting like the snow. They were very near
parting with their last rouble.
They were busily at work one day, mending the damaged roof, when a
strange peasant came up, and gazed at them for a minute or two in
silence.
"Khariton!" he cried at last, "Don't you know me?"
Khariton sprang down the sloping roof and over the low eaves, and
clasped the stranger in his arms.
"It's Demyan!" he shouted.
He was a Knishi man who had been banished during the first persecution
some years ago. They all knew him except Alexis and Michael. Until his
banishment they had worked and worshipped together. It was a great joy
to meet again.
"How vexed I was to hear you'd been sent on from Irkutsk!" he said.
"There was work for you there, ready. But we soon found out where
they'd sent you; and as soon as we could make a little collection, I
just stole a march, and came out to bring it."
"But if they find you out!" exclaimed Khariton.
"Well, somebody must run a risk," he said doggedly; "we could not leave
you to perish in this wilderness. You could not get our collection—it's
only thirty roubles——without somebody venturing. But I want news. Tell
me about Paraska."
"She is hoarding up every kopek to get enough money to join you," said
Alexis.
"And she never found our little boys?" he said sorrowfully. "Oh, it was
cruel!"
"They are quite lost sight of; we could find no trace of them,"
answered Alexis. "Even Father Cyril—a good man—could hear nothing of
them."
"Ah!" he exclaimed. "That's the Batoushka Paraska speaks of. I've a
letter from her, with Knishi news. But I must be quick, it's four days'
journey here, and four back. I reported myself last Monday, and I must
not be later than Wednesday or Thursday in showing up again. Oh, here's
Paraska's letter! I was to tell you,—
"'Father Cyril has been sent away from Knishi, thanks to Father Paissy.
He was not permitted to take Velia with him—'"
"Who is Velia?" Demyan inquired.
"Read on!" cried Alexis.
"'He was compelled to leave her behind with the widow of Father Vasili;
and folks say she is going to marry again to old Okhrim, the Starosta.
If possible let Michael know at once—'"
"Who is Michael?" asked Demyan again.
"He is my son," said Alexis; "and Velia is my little daughter."
"All the children under ten years of age were taken from us," said
Khariton; "and Velia was adopted by Father Cyril. This is terrible
news!"
Every man there saw at once the threatening meaning of it. The tender,
delicate child had been put into the hands of a tyrannical and
unscrupulous woman; and possibly into the power of a brutal and cruel
man, who would vent upon her his bigoted hatred of her people. Alexis
fell down on his knees, and groaning, hid his face in his hands.
"Oh, my God! My God, save her!" he cried in a tone of anguish.
The letter had been written nearly four months ago. Thousands of miles
stretched between them and the desolate child. Already she must have
endured a winter of misery. What could be done for her?
"I must go, father!" exclaimed Michael. "If I have to beg my way, I
must go. And oh, I'll save her, father! Velia, little Velia!" And the
boy's voice rose into a passionate cry, as if he would make her hear
him across all the space that divided them.
The affair had to be settled speedily, for if Michael went, it was best
that he should go as far as Irkutsk with Demyan, before the roads were
broken up by the thaw.
"Let him come with me," said Demyan; "we've got friends in Irkutsk.
They'll give him letters to other friends on the way. We'll get a few
more roubles together. And as soon as he catches up the railway, he'll
spin along. He'll get to Knishi before next winter; and the summer is
better. Yarina will befriend her, be sure of that."
"You must go, my boy," said Alexis, "but you must make your way first
of all to Odessa, and get your kinsman there to help you. At any rate
he will help you with money."
In a few hours Michael had said farewell to his father, and the whole
band of Stundists. In a short time they would be settled in their new
dwellings, and begin to make decent homes of them. "The winter's woe
was past," and new hopes were springing up. But for this bad news
Michael felt that life even in the Trans-Baikal might be full of
gladness.
Sergius accompanied Michael as far as possible along the route to
Irkutsk. They had much to say to one another, but for the last mile or
so they were speechless. Knowing they could not meet again for years,
if for ever, they embraced each other silently, and in silence each
went on his way.