knitted, her dark eyes followed every movement of the girl. As Boolba finished speaking she leant forward and demanded harshly:
"Irene Yaroslav, where is Israel Kensky?"
"I do not know," replied the girl, not taking her eyes from her work.
"You lie," said the woman. "You shall tell me where he is and where he has hidden his 'Book of All-Power.' She knows, Boolba."
"Peace, peace!" he said, laying his big hand on her shoulder. "Presently she will tell and be glad to tell. Where is your father, Irene Yaroslav?"
"You know best," she replied, and the answer seemed to afford him amusement.
"He was a religious man," he scoffed. "Did he not believe in miracles? Was there any saint in Kieff he did not patronize? He is with the saints this day," and then, in a fierce whisper to Sophia—"How did she look? Tell me, Sophia. How did she look when I spoke?"
"He died three weeks ago," said Irene quietly, "at the Fortress of Peter and Paul," and Boolba rapped out an oath.
"Who told you? Who told you?" he roared, "Tell me who told you, and I will have his heart out of him! I wanted to tell you that myself!"
"The High Commissary Boyaski," she replied,
