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RUSSIAN ROMANCE.

Pougatcheff was gone. I gazed long at the white steppe over which his troïka sped. The crowd dispersed, Shvabrine withdrew. I returned to the priest's house. All was ready for our departure; I was anxious not to delay. Our luggage had been placed in the commandant's old travelling carriage. The yemstchick quickly put the horses to. Maria Ivanovna went to take a last farewell of the graves of her parents, which stood behind the church. I offered to accompany her, but she begged that I should let her go alone. She returned in a few minutes, weeping silently. The carriage drove up, Father Gherassim and his wife came out. We three, Maria Ivanovna, Paláshka, and I, took our places inside the kibitka. Savelitch scrambled into the rumble. "Farewell, Maria Ivanovna, my little dove! farewell Piotr Andrevitch, our falcon bird!" the good priest's wife said. "A happy journey to you and God bless you both!" We left. I saw Shvabrine standing at a window of the commandant's house. His look was one of dark hatred. I had no desire to triumph over a humiliated foe, and turned my face away. We emerged from the fortress, and left Byĕlogorsk behind us for ever.

 

 

CHAPTER XIII.

THE ARREST.

I was so unexpectedly united to the dear girl regarding whose safety I had been even that very morning so anxiously concerned, that I could not believe my senses,