clothes, though on each occasion they were stolen from him. The
longing for home had begun from the very time he had been brought
to Odessa, and the convict train had stopped in the night at
Progonnaya; and Yakov, pressing to the window, had tried to see his
own home, and could see nothing in the darkness. He had no one with
whom to talk of home. His sister Aglaia had been sent right across
Siberia, and he did not know where she was now. Dashutka was in
Sahalin, but she had been sent to live with some ex-convict in a
far away settlement; there was no news of her except that once a
settler who had come to the Voevodsky Prison told Yakov that Dashutka
had three children. Sergey Nikanoritch was serving as a footman at
a government official's at Dué, but he could not reckon on ever
seeing him, as he was ashamed of being acquainted with convicts of
the peasant class.

The gang reached the mine, and the men took their places on the
quay. It was said there would not be any loading, as the weather
kept getting worse and the steamer was meaning to set off. They
could see three lights. One of them was moving: that was the
steam-cutter going to the steamer, and it seemed to be coming back
to tell them whether the work was to be done or not. Shivering with
the autumn cold and the damp sea mist, wrapping himself in his short
torn coat, Yakov Ivanitch looked intently without blinking in the
direction in which lay his home. Ever since he had lived in prison
together with men banished here from all ends of the earth--with
Russians, Ukrainians, Tatars, Georgians, Chinese, Gypsies, Jews--
and ever since he had listened to their talk and watched their
sufferings, he had begun to turn again to God, and it seemed to him
at last that he had learned the true faith for which all his family,
from his grandmother Avdotya down, had so thirsted, which they had