d I felt
as though death were coming upon me stealthily from behind.

"Kee-vee! kee-vee!" I heard a sudden shriek in the night's stillness,
and did not know where it was--in my breast or in the street--"Kee-vee!
kee-vee!"

"My God, how terrible!" I would have drunk some more water, but by then
it was fearful to open my eyes and I was afraid to raise my head. I was
possessed by unaccountable animal terror, and I cannot understand why
I was so frightened: was it that I wanted to live, or that some new
unknown pain was in store for me?

Upstairs, overhead, some one moaned or laughed. I listened. Soon
afterwards there was a sound of footsteps on the stairs. Some one came
hurriedly down, then went up again. A minute later there was a sound of
steps downstairs again; some one stopped near my door and listened.

"Who is there?" I cried.

The door opened. I boldly opened my eyes, and saw my wife. Her face was
pale and her eyes were tear-stained.

"You are not asleep, Nikolay Stepanovitch?" she asked.

"What is it?"

"For God's sake, go up and have a look at Liza; there is something the
matter with her...."

"Very good, with pleasure," I muttered, greatly relieved at not being
alone. "Very good, this minute...."

I followed my wife, heard what she said to me, and was too agitated to
understand a word. Patches of light from her candle danced about the
stairs, our long shadows trembled. My feet caught in the skirts of my
dressing-gown; I gasped for breath, and felt as though something were
pursuing me and trying to catch me from behind.

"I shall die on the spot, here on the staircase," I thought. "On the
spot...." But we passed the staircase, the dark corridor with the
Italian windows, and went into Liza's room. She was sitting on the bed
in her nightdress, with her bare feet hanging down, and she was moaning.

"Oh, my God! Oh, my God!" she was muttering, screwing up her eyes at our
candle. "I can't bear it."

"Liza, my child," I said, "what is it?"

Seeing me, she began crying out, and flung herself on my neck.

"My kind papa!..." she sobbed--"my dear, good papa... my darling, my
pet, I don't know what is the matter with me.... I am miserable!"

She hugged me, kissed me, and babbled fond words I used to hear from her
when she was a child.

"Calm yourself, my child. God be with you," I said. "There is no need to
cry. I am miserable, too."

I tried to tuck her in; my wife gave her water, and we awkwardly
st