lexyevna, your heart is not free.'

'Perhaps not,' answered Natalya, hardly audibly, 'but all the same you
are mistaken.'

'How is that?' asked Rudin.

'Let me go! don't question me!' replied Natalya, and with swift steps
she turned towards the house.

She was frightened herself by the feelings of which she was suddenly
conscious in herself.

Rudin overtook her and stopped her.

'Natalya Alexyevna,' he said, 'this conversation cannot end like this;
it is too important for me too.... How am I to understand you?'

'Let me go!' repeated Natalya.

'Natalya Alexyevna, for mercy's sake!'

Rudin's face showed his agitation. He grew pale.

'You understand everything, you must understand me too!' said Natalya;
she snatched away her hand and went on, not looking round.

'Only one word!' cried Rudin after her

She stood still, but did not turn round.

'You asked me what I meant by that comparison yesterday. Let me tell
you, I don't want to deceive you. I spoke of myself, of my past,--and of
you.'

'How? of me?'

'Yes, of you; I repeat, I will not deceive you. You know now what was
the feeling, the new feeling I spoke of then.... Till to-day I should
not have ventured...'

Natalya suddenly hid her face in her hands, and ran towards the house.

She was so distracted by the unexpected conclusion of her conversation
with Rudin, that she ran past Volintsev without even noticing him. He
was standing motionless with his back against a tree. He had arrived at
the house a quarter of an hour before, and found Darya Mihailovna in the
drawing-room; and after exchanging a few words got away unobserved and
went in search of Natalya. Led by a lover's instinct, he went straight
into the garden and came upon her and Rudin at the very instant when she
snatched her hand away from him. Darkness seemed to fall upon his eyes.
Gazing after Natalya, he left the tree and took two strides, not knowing
whither or wherefore. Rudin saw him as he came up to him. Both looked
each other in the face, bowed, and separated in silence.

'This won't be the end of it,' both were thinking.

Volintsev went to the very end of the garden. He felt sad and sick;
a load lay on his heart, and his blood throbbed in sudden stabs at
intervals. The rain began to fall a little again. Rudin turned into
his own room. He, too, was disturbed; his thoughts were in a whirl. The
trustful, unexpected contact of a young true heart is agitating for any
one.

At ta