I

'NASTASIA!'

The shout rang out into the still afternoon, startling a passing raven, which flapped hastily away over the steppe.

'Nastasia! NASTASIA!'

The door of the farmhouse suddenly burst open, and an old man, obviously drunk, in a dirty, slate-coloured smock, reeled out unsteadily into the yard, kicking over unconsciously a trough standing before the door, in which a meagrelooking dog was feeding in a timid way, its tail between its legs. Half a dozen fowls, who were assisting the dog in his meal, fled clucking in all 'directions.

'Where can that devil of a girl be? Nastasia, where are you? She's off again; plague take the jade.'

B

He staggered across the yard, and peered into a dilapidated barn that did duty for a stable.

The horse gone. I thought so; ay, she's after some young devil of a Cossack, I'll be bound. Here, Osip! Osip!'

A half-grown youth, picturesquely clad in nothing whatever but a shirt, to which bits of hay and dust were sticking, appeared suddenly round the barn, rubbing his little eyes with one hand, and carrying a bucket, as though to mark his occupation, in the other. He did not wait to be questioned, but said at once, in a whining tone

'I heard the hoofs an hour ago; she went there,' and he pointed towards Jitomir. always goes that way.'

'And why didn't you tell me?'

'You were asleep.'

'She

'You were asleep, you mean, you lazy goodfor-nothing scamp. Look at that dog's pan lying there upside down; you've been in the loft sleeping, any one can see by your shirt. I believe you would sleep all day if you could. Don't stand there yawning; be off, and clean up all that at once, do you hear?'

'Curse that girl, the Tartars will teach her to go scampering about one fine day! Devil take her, I'll make her hide smart for it.'

He turned and shuffled back into the house, leaving the door open behind him. Osip forthwith retired to his lair in the barn, and was soon asleep again. The cur and the fowls sneaked cautiously back, and resumed their interrupted meal. The steppe was once more quiet.

II

The dying sun threw his yellow beams over Volhynia, past the low range of hills of the Ukraine, and lengthened the shadows cast by the spires of Jitomir. A waving track in the tall prairie grass marked the passage through it of a traveller, as yet invisible below. Presently he emerged on to the side of the hill, and drew his rein for an instant, as he turned to look at the scene.

His easy seat on horseback seemed out of keeping with his dress, which was merely that of the Russian peasant-a coarse shirt, wide