“Oh, my lord!” she began.  “I could not save myself.  I was a stranger.  He took my money.  We had no home.”

“Stop, liar,” he thundered, “I gave you money when you left Galicia.”

“Yes, I paid it for the house, and still there was more to pay.”

“Liar again!” he hissed; “I sent you money every month.  I have your receipts for it.”

“I had no money from you,” she said humbly.  “He forced me to have men sleep in my house and in my room, or lose my home.  And the children, what could I do?  They could not go out into the snow.”

“You got no money from me?” he enquired.

Again she kissed the little cross.  “I swear it.  And what could I do?”

“Do!” cried the man, his voice choked with rage.  “Do!  You could die!”

“And the children?”

He was silent, looking down upon her.  He began to realize the helplessness of her plight.  In a strange land, she found herself without friends, and charged with the support of two children.  The money he had given her she had invested in a house, through Rosenblatt, who insisted that payments were still due.  No wonder he had terrified her into submission to his plans.

While his contempt remained, her husband’s rage grew less.  After a long silence he said, “Listen.  This feast will last two days?”

“Yes, there is food and drink for two days.”

“In two days my work here will be done.  Then I go back.  I must go back.  My children! my children! what of my children?  My dead Olga’s children!” He began to pace the room.  He forgot the woman on the floor.  “Oh, fatherland!  My fatherland!” he cried in a voice broken with passionate grief, “must I sacrifice these too for thee?  God in heaven!  Father, mother, brother, home, wife, all I have given.  Must I give my children, too?” His strong dark face was working fiercely.  His voice came harsh and broken.  “No, no!  By all the saints, no!  I will keep my children for Olga’s sake.  I will let my wretched country go.  What matter to me?  I will make a new home in this free land and forget.  Ah, God!  Forget?  I can never forget!  These plains!” He tore aside the quilt from the window and stooping looked out upon the prairie.  “These plains say Russia!  This gleaming snow, Russia!  Ah!  Ah!  Ah!  I cannot forget, while I live, my people, my fatherland.  I have suffered too much to forget.  God forget me, if I forget!” He fell on his knees before the window, dry sobs shaking his powerful frame.  He rose and began again to stride up and down, his hands locked before him.  Suddenly he stood quite still, making mighty efforts to regain command of himself.  For some moments he stood thus rigid.

The woman, who had been kneeling all the while, crept to his feet.

“My lord will give his children to me,” she said in a low voice.

“You!” he cried, drawing back from her.  “You!  What could you do for them?”

“I could die for them,” she said simply, “and for my lord.”