"I have no reason to get away from here, and there is no sense in killing me,--you killed me long ago. And whether I will tell on you or not depends on what G.o.d will put into my soul."

On the following day, when the convicts were taken out to work, the soldiers noticed that Makar s.e.m.e.novich was pouring out the dirt, and so they began to search in the prison, and found the hole. The chief came to the prison and began to ask all who had dug the hole. Everybody denied it. Those who knew had not seen Makar s.e.m.e.novich, because they knew that for this act he would be whipped half-dead. Then the chief turned to Aksenov. He knew that Aksenov was a just man, and said:

"Old man, you are a truthful man, tell me before G.o.d who has done that."

Makar s.e.m.e.novich stood as though nothing had happened and looked at the chief, and did not glance at Aksenov. Aksenov's arms and lips trembled, and he could not utter a word for long time. He thought: "If I protect him, why should I forgive him, since he has ruined me? Let him suffer for my torments! And if I tell on him, they will indeed whip him to death. And suppose that I have a wrong suspicion against him. Will that make it easier for me?"

The chief said once more:

"Well, old man, speak, tell the truth! Who has been digging it?"

Aksenov looked at Makar s.e.m.e.novich, and said:

"I cannot tell, your Honour. G.o.d orders me not to tell. And I will not tell. Do with me as you please,--you have the power."

No matter how much the chief tried, Aksenov would not say anything more.

And so they did not find out who had done the digging.

On the following night, as Aksenov lay down on the bed-boards and was just falling asleep, he heard somebody come up to him and sit down at his feet. He looked in the darkness and recognized Makar. Aksenov said:

"What more do you want of me? What are you doing here?"

Makar s.e.m.e.novich was silent. Aksenov raised himself, and said:

"What do you want? Go away, or I will call the soldier."

Makar bent down close to Aksenov, and said to him in a whisper:

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'G.o.d will forgive you'"

_Photogravure from Painting by A. Kivshenko_]

"Ivan Dmitrievich, forgive me!"

Aksenov said:

"For what shall I forgive you?"

"It was I who killed the merchant and put the knife into your bag. I wanted to kill you, too, but they made a noise in the yard, so I put the knife into your bag and climbed through the window."

Aksenov was silent and did not know what to say. Makar s.e.m.e.novich slipped down from the bed, made a low obeisance, and said:

"Ivan Dmitrievich, forgive me, forgive me for G.o.d's sake! I will declare that it was I who killed the merchant,--you will be forgiven. You will return home."

Aksenov said:

"It is easy for you to speak so, but see how I have suffered! Where shall I go now? My wife has died, my children have forgotten me. I have no place to go to--"

Makar s.e.m.e.novich did not get up from the floor. He struck his head against the earth, and said:

"Ivan Dmitrievich, forgive me! When they whipped me with the knout I felt better than now that I am looking at you. You pitied me, and did not tell on me. Forgive me, for Christ's sake! Forgive me, the accursed evil-doer!" And he burst out into tears.

When Aksenov heard Makar s.e.m.e.novich crying, he began to weep himself, and said:

"G.o.d will forgive you. Maybe I am a hundred times worse than you!"

And suddenly a load fell off from his soul. And he no longer pined for his home, and did not wish to leave the prison, but only thought of his last hour.

Makar s.e.m.e.novich did not listen to Aksenov, but declared his guilt. When the decision came for Aksenov to leave,--he was dead.

HUNTING WORSE THAN SLAVERY

We were hunting bears. My companion had a chance to shoot at a bear: he wounded him, but only in a soft spot. A little blood was left on the snow, but the bear got away.

We met in the forest and began to discuss what to do: whether to go and find that bear, or to wait two or three days until the bear should lie down again.

We asked the peasant bear drivers whether we could now surround the bear. An old bear driver said:

"No, we must give the bear a chance to calm himself. In about five days it will be possible to surround him, but if we go after him now he will only be frightened and will not lie down."

But a young bear driver disputed with the old man, and said that he could surround him now.

"Over this snow," he said, "the bear cannot get away far,--he is fat. He will lie down to-day again. And if he does not, I will overtake him on snow-shoes."

My companion, too, did not want to surround the bear now, and advised waiting.

But I said:

"What is the use of discussing the matter? Do as you please, but I will go with Demyan along the track. If we overtake him, so much is gained; if not,--I have nothing else to do to-day anyway, and it is not yet late."

And so we did.

My companions went to the sleigh, and back to the village, but Demyan and I took bread with us, and remained in the woods.

When all had left us, Demyan and I examined our guns, tucked our fur coats over our belts, and followed the track.

It was fine weather, chilly and calm. But walking on snow-shoes was a hard matter: the snow was deep and powdery.

The snow had not settled in the forest, and, besides, fresh snow had fallen on the day before, so that the snow-shoes sunk half a foot in the snow, and in places even deeper.

The bear track could be seen a distance away. We could see the way the bear had walked, for in spots he had fallen in the snow to his belly and had swept the snow aside. At first we walked in plain sight of the track, through a forest of large trees; then, when the track went into a small pine wood, Demyan stopped.

"We must now give up the track," he said. "He will, no doubt, lie down here. He has been sitting on his haunches,--you can see it by the snow.

Let us go away from the track, and make a circle around him. But we must walk softly and make no noise, not even cough, or we shall scare him."