CHAPTER XXI

MARFA'S FUNERAL

DAY after day passed by. The burning sun beat down upon the exiles, scorching their skin and almost blinding their eyes. The fettered convicts could hardly drag their feet along the hot dust; and the women lagged behind in a straggling line. The convoy-guards grew irritable, and more brutal than in milder weather. They too suffered, but there was no despair added to their sufferings. They had only certain stages to travel, and then they would hand over their charge to a fresh captain and guard.

Every third day there was a respite. After two days' march came a day of rest. Then the sick people were delivered from the choking dust and rough jolting of the telegas. Marfa could lie during the day out of doors under the shadow of the prison walls, with all her friends about her. They listened to her plaintive wanderings in delirium, now and then catching a gleam of recognition or a word or two of intelligence.

But the fever was high, and there was no alleviation for it. Anna Grigorovna, the friendly convict, did her utmost to comfort Tatiania, and reconcile her to Marfa's death. But she refused all consolation. Anna had no children, and knew nothing of a mother's heart. If only she could sit beside her dying girl, she would be satisfied. But that they all knew it was utterly useless to ask. The telegas were already overladen, and some of the children were carried on the baggage-waggons. Tatiania was in fair health, and quite able to walk.

"Even if I could walk," said Anna, "they would not let me give up my place to you."

She was dying slowly of consumption, and knew she must be left behind in one of the few prison hospitals along the Great Siberian Road. Though she dreaded the place, she was longing for the rest she would find there, if the death she prayed for did not overtake her before they reached it. She longed to die before she was parted from this strange little band of Stundists, whose company she had sought because of their quiet and decent ways. What astonished her was that not one among them murmured at their hard lot—excepting Tatiania, who only lamented not being able to ride with her dying girl in the telega. For that Marfa would die there was no shadow of a doubt.

Khariton prayed in his inmost heart that death would come soon, but Tatiania could not bring herself even to say, "God's will be done!"

Two or three children had perished already on the route, from the foul air and from the utter impossibility of cleanliness. None of them were Stundists' children; and their mothers had grown apathetic with despair, and were almost glad to be rid of a charge which became every day more and more burdensome.

But Marfa had been an unfailing, untiring help, not a burden. What should they do without her? To see her lying in the creaking, jolting telega, with the fierce sun smiting her, was maddening to her mother.

They came at length to the last stage before they could reach a hospital. Two days' march would bring them to it, and there they must leave Marfa and the friendly convict Anna. Every one of the little band of Stundists dreaded the day when Khariton and Tatiania must bid farewell for ever to their daughter, and abandon her to a lonely death. Khariton marched all day with bowed-down head and speechless lips. Tatiania wept bitter tears. Sergius and Michael walked side by side, now and then clasping one another's hands, but unable to talk together, as they usually did. Even little Clava, whom they carried by turns, was very quiet and languid, as if she understood their sorrow.

Marfa was carried into the overcrowded kamera, unventilated, and reeking with foul air, and heated with the sultry sun which had beaten upon the low roof all day. The convoy captain was a humane man, and allowed some of the exiles to sleep outside on the ground of the prison-yard. But within the kameras the men and women could hardly breathe; and the dying girl lay panting on the plank sleeping-platform. But even that was comfort compared with the jolting telega. Her mother lay beside her, and little Clava crept close to her on the other side. Her father and Alexis, Sergius, and Michael stood near; and in that corner of the kamera a comparative stillness prevailed; for their fellow-exiles had learned to respect the Stundists. And one of them was dying.

"The end is coming, thank God!" said Anna, turning away and leaving Marfa alone with her own people.

She was quite conscious now, but too weak to lift her hand or turn her head towards her mother, whose sobs filled her dying ear. She could see them who stood at her feet, and a very peaceful smile came over her wasted face.

"Father," she said faintly, "tell mother I'm really going home."

"I'm here, my darling!" sobbed Tatiania, putting her arm across her.

"Home you know," she repeated; "not to Knishi—but to be with the Lord. He says, 'To-day shalt thou be with Me in paradise.' It's better than living."

She could hardly gasp out the words, but her voice was clear, and they heard her distinctly amid all the din and racket of the crowded kamera. Once more she smiled very peacefully upon them, her eyes resting upon each one with a look of recognition.

"You will all come," she murmured; "I shall be looking out for you."

She closed her tired eyelids, and seemed to fall asleep in her mother's arms. All night she lay there, breathing softly, but as the first rays of light dawned, they saw her spirit pass away in peaceful silence. It was the third day, the day for resting twenty-four hours, and so they were able to see the body laid decently away in the grave. The cemetery of the little Siberian village lay near the étape, and all the free exiles were at liberty to go to it, though none of the men, being convicts, could attend Marfa's funeral. All the Stundist women and children went.

The open plain surrounding the cemetery was bright with flowers, and the hum of bees filled the air. It was too hot for the birds to sing. Many of the graves had black crosses at the head, and were fenced in by gaily-coloured rails. The letters I.H.S. were painted on one of the arms of the crosses, and on some of them there was a rude representation in white paint of the Lord crucified.

As yet, in this far distant and isolated village, with leagues of uninhabited country surrounding it, there was no inclination to refuse burial to a Stundist. The old parish priest was willing, so that he got his dues, to let them bury their dead as they pleased. In the case of paupers, such as this dead exile must be, it was usual to let the relatives dig the grave and lay the body in it; and in course of time, when a sufficient number were interred, the funeral service was read over all the graves together. Michael and Sergius dug Marfa's grave.

The women and children stood round the grave in silence, whilst the boys lowered the rude coffin into it. They were all still alive, those who had left Knishi, but they were emaciated and broken down, the shadows of their former selves. Katerina carried her baby in her arms, but the tiny face that looked up at her was starved and shrivelled, with dull, solemn eyes, and a tremulous, unsatisfied movement on the lips that would never learn to speak. Little Clava was thin and wasted, and every day made her a lighter weight for Michael and Sergius to carry across Siberia.

There was no man to pray, but Matrona stood at the head of the grave, and read, in a voice faltering with old age and pity, these words—

"And one of the elders answered, saying unto me, What are these which are arrayed in white robes? and whence came they?

"And I said unto him, Sir, thou knowest. And he said to me, These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.

"Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve Him day and night in His temple; and He that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them.

"They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat.

"For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes."

So they buried Marfa thousands of miles away from her beloved home. She who had never been separated from her own people for a single day, was to lie in a grave that not one of them could visit and weep over. To-morrow they would be already miles away from this sacred spot, and the end of their journey would place still more thousands of miles between them and the lonely grave.