A LETTER FROM SIBERIA
WHEN the old Matoushka saw her little victim carried swiftly away by
the current, she stood paralysed, watching till Velia was out of her
sight. Had she thrust the child in? She could not answer the question
to herself. What could she do now? There was not a creature in sight.
The nearest house was Yarina's, but it was on the other side of the
river, and the bridge across was nearly half a mile off. The body would
have sunk, or drifted far away, before she could get any help.
How she reached her hut, trembling and tottering under her load of wet
clothing, she hardly knew. She sat down and did nothing. It crossed
her mind that she would have to account for Velia's disappearance, but
she had not strength sufficient to drag herself into the village. She
swallowed a small glass of vodka, yet that did not give her courage
enough to face the inquiries and remarks of her neighbours. Well, it
would be of no use now. The girl was drowned. What will be, will be!
Doggedly she set about getting her supper, but she could not rid her
mind of the vision of the girl drowning. She lit one wick of her lamp,
but the corners of the hut were very dark, and she soon lighted all
three. The silence was alarming; there was no frightened footfall or
pitiful sigh in the hut. The old Matoushka tried to laugh away her
own fancies, but in the stillness she could hear the terrified scream
uttered by Velia when she fell into the river.
It was a great relief when she heard the familiar footstep of her
friend Okhrim. He entered the illuminated hut, blinking as he came in
from the darkness.
"Ah!" he said. "Why, Matoushka, are you having a feast?"
"No, no," she answered; "I'm in great trouble. I've something serious
to tell you."
"Velia drowned!" he exclaimed, when she had finished her account. "Do
you know what folks are sure to say?"
She could guess very well what would be said. Okhrim chuckled inwardly,
and said to himself, "Now I have her between my finger and thumb."
"You're sure you didn't push her in?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied in a tremulous voice.
"Do you think they'll believe that?" he asked again.
She did not answer.
Okhrim sat silent for some time, lost in thought. Then he looked at her
with triumphant cunning.
"I advise you to let her disappear," he said. "Clava disappeared from
the church-house in Father Cyril's time, and why shouldn't Velia? Wake
up to-morrow and find her gone. Go at once and tell the Batoushka; and
come to me as Starosta. If the body is found, it will account for the
disappearance. I'll report it to the authorities at Kovylsk."
"Oh, you're a true friend," she said, sobbing.
She fetched out her best vodka, and brought some bread and cheese, and
sat by, not able to eat, and marvelling silently at a man's appetite.
After it was satisfied, Okhrim resumed the conversation.
"And now," he said, "you'll let me have that little sum I want to
borrow."
"What interest will you give me?" she asked timidly.
"We'll settle that by and by," he answered, with a sneer. It would not
be necessary now to marry the old widow. He could squeeze what money he
liked out of her.
Some months after Michael and Velia reached Scotland, they received the
following letter from their father:—
"BELOVED CHILDREN,—Grace be with you, mercy, and peace from God the
Father and from the Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of the Father, in truth
and love. Let us first praise God for His tender mercies both towards
you and towards us. Our kinsman in Odessa has written me concerning
you. May the blessing of God Almighty rest upon him and Father Cyril!
I long to hear from yourselves that you prosper and are in health, and
that your souls prosper.
"I charge you, my beloved son, that you use all diligence in your
studies; especially that, as far as possible, you learn something of
healing, that when you return to us, you may be like Luke, the beloved
physician. This knowledge will be useful to you wherever your 'lost' is
cast. Let my well-beloved Velia learn all that a woman should know: how
to nurse the sick, teach and bring up children, make garments, guide
the house, and glorify the Lord in doing little things. These things
do, and you will gladden your father's heart.
"For ourselves, the loving-kindness of our God towards us is
marvellous. I will write you particulars. He has given us favour in
the eyes of our neighbours; more especially of the police officer and
Starosta, who is a Mongol, and cares nothing about our religion. I do
all his writing and accounts for him; and he deals pleasantly with
us. We have made a decent home—or homes, rather—of the hut and its
barns; and we live in great harmony and peace together. Katerina has
another child to comfort her for the babe she lost on the journey. All
the rest are well both in body and soul. As we are dwelling not far
from the frontier of Mongolia, Khariton Kondraty and his son Sergius
are learning the Mongol language, to the intent that when our term of
banishment is over, they may go forth, even as our Lord sent His first
disciples, to preach the kingdom of God. He said, 'Freely ye have
received, freely give.' It is the bread of life and the water of life
they will give to a hungered and thirsty nation.
"Rejoice, my children, Paraska has joined her husband, Demyan. She
came to Irkutsk in the service of the Countess Nesteroff, whose son,
Valerian, is in exile in Saghalien. Paraska came herself to tell us,
and to bring news of our dear little ones left behind in Knishi. They
stand fast, poor lambs! in our faith; all but the infants who were too
young to know anything of it. Yet we trust them to Him who took little
children into His arms, blessing them. Paraska further told us that
Paul Rodenko's wife, Halya, has joined him in Saghalien; and that his
letters are full of courage, and thanksgiving to our Father in heaven.
There, as well as here, there are souls eager to listen to the glad
tidings of salvation; and in every place of banishment whither our
people go, the Lord's name is magnified. Is not this better than houses
and lands, and the honour and praise of men? 'I will be a Father unto
you, and ye shall be my sons and daughters, saith the Lord Almighty.'
Remember these words, my beloved ones. Our term of banishment will
end in 1904. What we shall then do, God alone knows. But if it be His
will, I will meet my son at Odessa—a young man then—and we will confer
together how we can serve both our Lord and our country. For Russia is
dear to us all; the people are our people; the Czar is our ruler, whom
God has set over us. We are ready, not only to be in bonds, but to die
for Russia. We dedicate ourselves and our children to the well-being of
our fatherland. God save Russia!
"May the blessing of God rest upon all your mother's kindred! We
cannot recompense them, but they shall be recompensed by Him who said,
'Whosoever shall give to drink unto one of these little ones a cup of
cold water only in the name of a disciple, verily I say unto you, he
shall in no wise lose his reward.'
"Now, my beloved, 'unto Him that is able to keep you from falling,
and to present you faultless before the presence of His glory with
exceeding joy, to the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty,
dominion and power, both now and ever. Amen.'"
THE END
PRINTED BY
MORRISON AND GIBB LIMITED, EDINBURGH.