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dance!” he said, and once again up came the face—up, and down again. Yell, scuffle, and laugh were repeated. There was the sound of a heavy slithering fall, and, still laughing, Stephen pushed under the sacking. With his fingers to his lips he said.
    â€œHe didn’t frighten you?” And, as she shook her head, “He’s like a bat—nasty, but harmless. He won’t look at you again in a hurry. It’s going to take him all his time being sorry for himself and telling the others how badly he’s hurt. Now look what I’ve brought you.”
    He dropped a bundle on the floor, unrolled it, and showed her with pride a sheepskin coat and cap, and a peasant woman’s skirt, blouse, kerchief and boots. The things were decent, but not new. “Better put them on,” he said, dropping his voice until it only just reached her. “You won’t want the coat in here, but you’d better get into the other things. Then give me what you’ve got on and I’ll get rid of it.”
    She nodded, and he ducked under the sack and went out into the room. As she put on the things he had brought her, she could hear him chaffing the man whose ears he had wrung. He began to tell a story against him which made the other men laugh. There seemed to be two or three of them, and at least two women, from the voices.
    Elizabeth rolled her old clothes into a tight bundle and waited for Stephen to come back. When he came he smiled approvingly, took her bundle, went off with it, and presently returned, breathing a little quickly as if he had been running.
    â€œThey’re gone,” he said at her ear. “I chucked them into the middle of the river beyond the ice. The current will take them away.” He looked at her critically. “You haven’t got the handkerchief tied right. It doesn’t matter to-night. I’ll show you how to do it in the morning. You’ll remember not to speak—won’t you? It’s a whole heap safer for you—in fact it’s the only way, because your Russian’s really dreadful.” He laughed a little. “It’s dull for you, I’m afraid, not being able to speak. They’ve been congratulating me on getting a wife who can’t give me a tongue-lashing.”
    Elizabeth smiled faintly. It warmed her to be near him. His good spirits, his strength, his easy friendly manner broke in upon the cold trance of loneliness and misery in which she had lived, moved and had her being for the last year. For his part, he was filled with a sense of triumph which he could hardly contain. To look at her sent tremendous currents of happiness swirling through him. He had got her, and he felt completely competent to keep her safe.
    She had taken off her cap with the other things which she had worn, and he could see her hair—dark hair, as fine as silk, very thick, and cut irregularly as if she had tried to do it herself. She had grey eyes with a ring of black about the iris, which gave them a starry look, and her lashes were very fine and soft, and as black as ink. The arch of the brows made him think of wings. She was much too pale—much, much too pale. That damned Commissar must have starved her. Her cheeks had no business to fall in like that. But what a lovely line from cheek to chin. Her lips should be red, not faint and pale. They looked as if they held secrets which they would never tell. They made you wonder what the secrets were—sweet, wild, mournful, tender. Well, some day she’d tell them—to him. He meant to see about that. He said abruptly.
    â€œWill you have some more cabbage soup?”

CHAPTER III
    In that crowded room, with its heavy air and its rough snoring denizens, Elizabeth slept more peacefully than she had done for a year. Stephen lay stretched on the floor between her and the mixed company beyond the sacking screen. He had rolled up his coat for a pillow, and his head had scarcely touched it