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 the place but the door to the hallway was slightly ajar. In the southern wall of the house were two square-cut openings which in the summer-time were either left entirely open or were screened-in by a thin partition of perforated lime-stone. In winter, thick, wooden blinds were nailed over these openings. They were the windows of the period.

Peace-Renown gazed upon the Berkut homestead with its gateway guardian, a newly killed giant eagle whose iron-like grip of steel talons and black, hooked beak still seemed to threaten violence, with a mixture of curiosity and gravely absorbed interest. An atmosphere of serenity pervaded the place attracting the wayfarer to its cheery brightness. The entire piece of property was cut off from the main road by the crystal stream of water, softly murmuring and foaming against a rocky dam and spanned by a small bridge. Tuhar glanced towards the house and said, “Oh, ho, so this is where the sage of Tukhlia resides. I certainly would like to meet him and see what manner of bird he is!”

Maxim wanted to bid the boyar and his daughter farewell and to turn in at the bridge, but something urged him to go on along with them. Peace-Renown seemed to sense his mood.

“Are you going to leave us now?” she asked, turning her face away to hide the sudden emotion which swept over it.

“Well, I was just going to do that, but I’ve changed my mind. I think I will go on a ways further with you, through the pass, up to the trail leading to your house.”

Peace-Renown was over-joyed at this, not knowing herself why she should be. And they continued on down through the village, talking, enjoying the scenery, each other’s company, the sound of their voices, completely lost in each other’s eyes, forgetting the presence of the father and the whole village about them. Although not a single word in the progress of their conversation made the slightest reference to themselves, or to their emotions and hopes, there trembled through their most