ming on a table for some time, while the latter looked out over the Moscowa.

Finally, Tcherkasky rose and joined Romanoff

in the window.

Prince.'

'A penny for your thoughts,

'Oh, I was thinking-of our late lamented Tsar and the name he took on becoming a monk, just before he died. Bogolep-remarkable name, isn't it?'

They looked at each other.

'What do you think about Basmanof's fidelity?'

'How will Shuiski like being recalled?'

'Well, he'll come back.'

'Yes, in time; but under which Tsar?'

'Who knows? Dmitri sounds more Russian than Fedor, and would dissolve, perhaps, still more easily into that of Shuiski.'

They looked at each other again.

'And then, where would Semen Godunoff be?' 'The scoundrel! With his sainted brother, I

hope.'

'St. Semen and St. Bogolep! Ha ha! Why, a second Boris and Gleb, on my

word!'

'Well, time will show.'

XXXII

Two months flew by, while Dmitri still remained at Putiol, and smiling spring came round again. For six weeks had the little town of Kromy, held by Korela and a small band of picked Cossacks, defied every effort of the great sluggish Russian army that lay before it, separated into two camps by the little stream that runs into the Oka-one commanded by Ivan Godunoff, brother of the late Tsar, the other by Prince Galitzin and Basmanof. Shuiski and Mtislavski had, somewhat unexpectedly, gone quietly home on receiving the order for their recall.

Day after day, the Russians lay in slothful inactivity, nor had this been broken by the arrival, a month since, of Basmanof. The sole occupation of the idle soldiery was to gather in knots, and discuss in dangerous whispers the death of Boris, and the awkward question of the new Tsar. Had their leaders designed to secure the victory for Dmitri, they could not have adopted a method more certainly calculated

to achieve that end. Even the most sternly faithful of the Russians was not proof against this policy of masterly inactivity: the leaven of disaffection spread gradually through the whole lump.

Why do we not march against him?' one soldier would say to another. 'Is it because our generals are afraid?'

'Why should we march against him?' would his comrade reply. Who is this Fedor Borissovitch, that we should fight for him? Tartar.'

A

And this Dmitri-what do you think of him?'

'What do I know? But how could he be Dmitri Ivanovitch, if he was murdered at Uglitch?'

Ah! but they say he did not die. No one saw him dead. And how could this one have done so much if he were not Dmitri Ivanovitch?

'It is the will of Heaven,' said the other, with a shrug. Let us have some vodka. Now that the accursed Tartar Boris is dead, we shall be able to drink vodka in peace.'

At length, one fine May morning, an outpost

captured a young Cossack, who was attempting to get through the Russian lines with despatches for Korela in Kromy, and brought him into Basmanof's camp.

Basmanof forthwith summoned a meeting of the principal officers in his tent, and the prisoner was produced.

'Give up your despatches,' said Basmanof.

Zarucki, for it was he, did so; and as he gave them, a look of intelligence passed from his eyes to those of the general. There was a momentary pause, while Basmanof and Galitzin consulted over the contents.

'Where do you come from?' said the former at length.

The Cossack (who was in reality merely one of a small band of Cossacks and hussars under the command of Zaporski, a Polish noble, and whose capture was nothing else than a deep-laid scheme between Basmanof and Dmitri to give a colour to the events that followed) answered readily, that he was a scout of Prince Dmitri's advance-guard, which was rapidly approaching to relieve Kromy.

'And in what force?'

'Two thousand Polish knights and eight thousand Russians.'

The officers looked at one another.

'It agrees with the despatch,' muttered Galitzin. And where is the main army, and what are its numbers?'

'It is advancing,' said Zarucki. A Polish reinforcement of forty thousand men is to join us four leagues from Putiol. A large body of our own people from below the Falls is expected every hour.'

Deep silence followed these words. As Basmanof looked from man to man, each officer averted his gaze, or bent his eyes on the ground. Basmanof darted a glance of meaning at Zarucki. Gentlemen,' he said at last, 'the state of things is before you. I put it to you, especially to those who met the Polish forces at Novgorod : How are we to cope with this new army?'

Silence.

'For me,' continued Basmanof, 'the chain of circumstances is too strong to leave any doubt on my mind. I cannot but think that in this matter the will of Heaven is declared. I will no longer beat about the bush. Between Fedor