up my rooms. What was the good of exposing a decent widow woman
to the risk of being worried out of her mind by the police? I gave up
seeing any of our comrades...."

Razumov drew to himself a half-sheet of paper and began to trace lines
on it with a pencil.

"Upon my word," he thought angrily, "he seems to have thought of
everybody's safety but mine."

Haldin was talking on.

"This morning--ah! this morning--that was different. How can I explain
to you? Before the deed was done I wandered at night and lay hid in the
day, thinking it out, and I felt restful. Sleepless but restful. What
was there for me to torment myself about? But this morning--after! Then
it was that I became restless. I could not have stopped in that big
house full of misery. The miserable of this world can't give you peace.
Then when that silly caretaker began to shout, I said to myself,
'There is a young man in this town head and shoulders above common
prejudices.'"

"Is he laughing at me?" Razumov asked himself, going on with his
aimless drawing of triangles and squares. And suddenly he thought: "My
behaviour must appear to him strange. Should he take fright at my manner
and rush off somewhere I shall be undone completely. That infernal
General...."

He dropped the pencil and turned abruptly towards the bed with the
shadowy figure extended full length on it--so much more indistinct than
the one over whose breast he had walked without faltering. Was this,
too, a phantom?

The silence had lasted a long time. "He is no longer here," was the
thought against which Razumov struggled desperately, quite frightened at
its absurdity. "He is already gone and this...only..."

He could resist no longer. He sprang to his feet, saying aloud, "I am
intolerably anxious," and in a few headlong strides stood by the side
of the bed. His hand fell lightly on Haldin's shoulder, and directly
he felt its reality he was beset by an insane temptation to grip that
exposed throat and squeeze the breath out of that body, lest it should
escape his custody, leaving only a phantom behind.

Haldin did not stir a limb, but his overshadowed eyes moving a little
gazed upwards at Razumov with wistful gratitude for this manifestation
of feeling.

Razumov turned away and strode up and down the room. "It would have been
possibly a kindness," he muttered to himself, and was appalled by the
nature of that apology for a murderous intention his mind had found
somewhere within