He took hold of it and lowered it. It was a strong pole, one that he had seen before on the roof of his master’s hut.
He looked up. The stars were shining high in the sky, and just above the pit Dina’s eyes gleamed in the dark like a cat’s. She stooped with her face close to the edge of the pit, and whispered, “Iván! Iván!” waving her hand in front of her face to show that he should speak low.
“What?” said Zhílin.
“All but two have gone away.”
Then Zhílin said, “Well, Kostílin, come; let us have one last try; I’ll help you up.”
But Kostílin would not hear of it.
“No,” said he. “It’s clear I can’t get away from here. How can I go, when I have hardly strength to turn round?”
“Well, goodbye, then! Don’t think ill of me!” and they kissed each other. Zhílin seized the pole, told Dina to hold on, and began to climb. He slipped once or twice; the shackles hindered him. Kostílin helped him, and he managed to get to the top. Dina, with her little hands, pulled with all her might at his shirt, laughing.
Zhílin drew out the pole and said, “Put it back in its place, Dina, or they’ll notice, and you will be beaten.”
She dragged the pole away, and Zhílin went down the hill. When he had gone down the steep incline, he took a sharp stone and tried to wrench the lock off the shackles. But it was a strong lock and he could not manage to break it, and besides, it was difficult to get at. Then he heard someone running down the hill, springing lightly. He thought: “Surely, that’s Dina again.”