CHAPTER XVII.
THE BLACK WINTER.
Petersburg, March 6.
WE bade a reluctant farewell to Moscow, taking our last look at the wall of the Kremlin and the colored domes which rise out of it, by the light of a full moon, which glorified everything, and gave a weird, white beauty to the scene. Soon we shall pack our trunks and go away; and our places will be filled by others, and no one will miss us or care. For a little while Alice will be conscious of regret; but all her interests are here, she has her husband and child, and she will get on very well without us. This thought should not have power to sadden me, but it has.
"When I get home," Judith says, "I shall never come back to Europe."
I feel a strange reluctance to look beyond the present moment. I never picture myself returning to my country and friends. I only wish I could stay forever just as I am, and that change might never come to any of us. When I said something like this to Judith, she laughed softly. "You would soon grow tired of it," she insisted.
Such a climate as this is now! One must be of a wonderfully cheerful nature not to be depressed by the
