"Another time I had a dream," she continued; "or, perhaps it was a revelation; I know not. It seemed to me that I was lying here in this hut, and there came to me my dead parents, my father and my mother. And they bowed low before me, but without uttering a word. And I said to them: 'Wherefore, O my father and my mother, do ye bow down before me?' And they replied: 'Because thou hast suffered much in this world, thou hast not only freed thine own soul, but thou hast also taken from us a heavy burden; and, therefore, have we fared far better in the other world. With thine own sins hast thou already finished thy reckoning. Now dost thou overcome ours also."

"And when they had thus spoken, my parents again rendered me obeisance and disappeared -- there was nothing to be seen but the bare walls. Thereupon I was greatly troubled as to what manner of thing had come to pass. I even made confession of it to the priest. But he was of opinion that it was not a revelation, inasmuch as revelations are made only to clerical personages.

"Here is another dream I have had," continued Loukeria. "I saw myself sitting by the road-side under a willow-tree, holding a staff in my hand, a bag slung across my shoulder, my head wrapped in a kerchief -- just like a pilgrim. And on a pilgrimage, in truth, I had wandered somewhere far, far away. And before me pilgrims kept incessantly passing. Slowly did they move, as though unwillingly, and all in one direction; the faces of all of them were sad, and they all closely resembled one another. And I saw that among them, there kept darting to and fro a female form, a whole head taller than the rest, and her dress was strange, not like ours, not a Russian dress. Her face also was strange, a meager face and stern. All the others seemed to keep aloof from her. Suddenly she turned round and came straight up to me. Then she stopped and looked at me steadfastly. Her eyes were like those of a hawk, yellow, large, and exceedingly clear. I asked her, 'Who art thou?' and she replied: 'I am thy Death.' I might well have been frightened, but instead of that a great joy came over me, and I made the sign of the cross. And, to me, that Death of mine said: 'I pity thee, Loukeria, but I cannot take thee with me. Farewell!' Ah me! how sad did I become!

"'Take me away,' I cried: 'take me with thee, mother dear!' Then my Death turned back to me, and began to speak to me. I knew that she was telling me of my appointed time, but obscurely, in words hard to understand.

"'After St. Peter's Fast,' she said.

"And then I awoke. Such are the wondrous dreams I have dreamt."

Loukeria looked upward and remained musing for a time.

"The only thing that troubles me is this. Sometimes a whole week goes by without my having a moment's sleep.