ed. Seated at
the tiller, he cleaved the water with his oar and gazed tranquilly
before him, filled with the desire to thus continue rowing forever over
this velvet plain.

On the sea, warm and generous impulses rose within him, filled his soul
and in a measure purified it of the defilements of life. He enjoyed
this effect and liked to feel himself better, out here, amid the waves
and air where the thoughts and occupations of life lose their interest
and life itself sinks into insignificance. In the night, the sound of
its soft breathing is wafted over the slumbering sea, and this infinite
murmur fills the soul with peace, checks all unworthy impulses and
brings forth mighty dreams.

"The nets, where are they, eh?" suddenly asked Gavrilo, inspecting the
boat.

Tchelkache shuddered.

"There's the net, at the rudder."

"What kind of a net's that?" asked Gavrilo, suspiciously.

"A sweep-net. . ."

But Tchelkache was ashamed to lie to this child to conceal his real
purpose; he also regretted the thoughts and feelings that the lad had
put to flight by his question. He became angry. He felt the sharp
burning sensation that he knew so well, in his breast; his throat
contracted. He said harshly to Gavrilo:

"You're there; well, remain there! Don't meddle with what doesn't
concern you. You've been brought to row, now row. And if you let your
tongue wag, no good will come of it. Do you understand?"

For one minute, the boat wavered and stopped. The oars stood still in
the foaming water around them, and Gavrilo moved uneasily on his seat.

"Row!"

A fierce oath broke the stillness. Gavrilo bent to the oars. The
boat, as though frightened, leaped ahead rapidly and nervously, noisily
cutting the water.

"Better than that!"

Tchelkache had risen from the helm and, without letting go his oar, he
fixed his cold eyes upon the pale face and trembling lips of Gavrilo.
Sinuous and bending forward, he resembled a cat ready to jump. A
furious grinding of teeth and rattling of bones could be heard.

"Who goes there?"

This imperious demand resounded over the sea.

"The devil! Row, row! No noise! I'll kill you, dog. Row, can't you!
One, two! Dare to cry out! I'll tear you from limb to limb! . . ."
hissed Tchelkache.

"Oh, Holy Virgin," murmured Gavrilo, trembling and exhausted.

The boat turned, obedient to his touch; he pulled toward the harbor
where the many-colored lanterns were grouped together