Portnoff continued pacing up and down the room.

“Curse him!  Curse him!  Curse him!” he cried, lifting his clenched hands above his head.

“Be patient, brother.”

“Patient!” cried Portnoff.  “I see blood.  I hear cries of women and children.  I fall asleep and feel my fingers in his throat.  I wake and find them empty!”

“Aha!  I too,” growled Malkarski.  “But patience, patience, brother!”

“Malkarski,” cried Portnoff, pausing in his walk, “I have suffered through this man in my country, in my people, in my family, in my heart!”

“Aha!” ejaculated old Malkarski with fierce emphasis, “have you?  Do you know what suffering is?  But—­yes, Portnoff, we must be patient yet.”  As he spoke he took on a dignity of manner and assumed an attitude of authority that Portnoff was quick to recognize.

“You speak truly,” replied the latter gravely.  “I heard a good thing to-day,” he continued with a change of tone.  “It seems that Sprink—­”

“Sprink!” muttered Malkarski with infinite contempt, “a rat, a pig!  Why speak of him?”

“It is a good story,” replied Portnoff with a laugh, “but not pleasant for Sprink to tell.  It appears he was negotiating with Mr. French, suggesting a partnership in the mine, but Mr. French kicked him out.  It was amusing to hear Sprink tell the tale with many oaths and curses.  He loves not French any more.”

“Bah!” said Malkarski, “the rest of the tale I heard.  He had the impudence to propose—­the dog!—­alliance with the young lady Irma.  Bah!” he spat upon the ground.  “And French very properly kicked him out of his house and gave him one minute to remove himself out of gun range.  There was quick running,” added old Malkarski with a grim smile.  “But he is a cur.  I wipe him out of my mind.”

“We must keep close watch these days,” said Portnoff.  “They are both like mad dogs, and they will bite.”

“Ha!” cried Malkarski with sudden vehemence, “if we could strike at once, now!  To-night!” His voice rose in a cry, “Ah, if it were to-night!  But patience,” he muttered.  “Ah, God! how long?”

“Not long, my brother, surely,” said Portnoff.

“No, not long,” answered Malkarski.  “Let them go away from the mine, away from these people.  On the railroad line many accidents occur.  Let us not spoil all by undue haste.”

“It is your day to watch to-morrow, Malkarski,” said Portnoff.

“I shall keep watch to-morrow,” said Malkarski.  “After all, it is joy to look on his face and think how it will appear when we have done our work.”  He rose and paced the floor, his deep-set eyes gleaming like live coals in his haggard old face.  “Ah,” he continued in his deep undertone, “that will be joy.”

Ever since the arrival of Rosenblatt in the country he had been under surveillance of one of these two old Nihilists, walking, though he knew it not, side by side with death.  To Malkarski fell the task of keeping within sight and sound of Rosenblatt during the following day.