in a bold, heavy way, and she regarded him with insolent indifference. It was one of the few occasions in his life that he spoke with her.
"The gospodar is going to Kieff, Sophia Kensky," introduced the old man.
"What will you do in Kieff, Excellency?" asked the woman indolently.
"I shall not be in Kieff," smiled Hay, "except on rare occasions. I am taking charge of some oil-wells about twenty versts outside of the town."
"It is a terrible life, living in the country," she said, and he was inclined to agree.
This and a few trite sentiments about Russian weather and Russian seasons were the only words he ever exchanged with her in his life. Years later, when he stood, hardly daring to breathe, in the cupboard of a commissary's office, and heard her wild denunciation of the man who had sent her to death, he was to recall this first and only meeting.
Israel Kensky dismissed his daughter without ceremony, and it was then that Malcolm Hay told him the result of his investigations. The old man sat for a long time stroking his beard.
"Two more days they stay in this town," he said, half to himself, "and that is the dangerous time."
He looked up sharply at Hay.
