the old man moving as he settled himself in his frame, his hand sinking
by his side, and the border of his wide robe waving. His own hand
retained the sensation of having, but a moment before, held a weighty
substance. The moon still shone into the room, bringing out from its
dark corners here a canvass, there a lay figure, there again the drapery
thrown over a chair, or a plaster cast on its bracket on the wall.
Tchartkoff now perceived that he was not in bed, but on his feet,
opposite the portrait. How he got there--was a thing he could in no way
comprehend. What astounded him still more was the fact that the portrait
was completely uncovered. No vestige of a sheet was there, but the
living eyes staring fixedly at him. A cold sweat stood upon his brow; he
would fain have fled, but his feet were rooted to the ground. And then
he saw (of a certainty this was no dream) the old man's features move,
and his lips protruded as if about to utter words. With a shrill cry of
horror, and a despairing effort, Tchartkoff tore himself from the
spot--and awoke. It was still a dream. His heart beat as though it would
burst his bosom, but there was no cause for such agitation. He was in
bed, in the same attitude as when he fell asleep. Before him was the
screen: the chamber was filled with the watery moonbeams. Through the
crack in the screen, the portrait was visible, covered with the sheet he
had himself laid over it. Although thus convinced of the groundlessness
of his alarm, the palpitation of his heart increased in violence, until
it became painful and alarming; the oppression on his breast grew more
and more severe. He could not detach his eyes from the sheet, and
presently he distinctly saw it move, at first gently, then quickly and
violently, as though hands were struggling and groping behind it,
pulling and tearing, and striving, but in vain, to throw it aside. There
was something mysteriously awful in this struggle of an invisible power
against so flimsy an obstacle, which it yet was unable to overcome.
Tchartkoff felt his very soul chilled with fear. "Great God! what is
this?" he cried, crossing himself in an agony of terror. And once more
he awoke. For the third time he had dreamed a dream! He sprang from his
bed in utter bewilderment, his brain whirling and burning, and at first
could not make up his mind whether he had been favoured by a visit from
the _domovoi_,[29] or by that of a real apparition.

Approaching the windo