ised.

Sasha smiled and answered in a softer voice:

"Don't worry about me. I'm not tired." And silently pressing their
hands, she left once more, cold and stern.

CHAPTER XIV

The mother and Nikolay, walking up to the window, watched the girl pass
through the yard and disappear beyond the gate. Nikolay whistled
quietly, sat down at the table and began to write.

"She'll occupy herself with this affair, and it'll be easier for her,"
the mother reflected.

"Yes, of course!" responded Nikolay, and turning around to the mother
with a kind smile on his face, asked: "And how about you, Nilovna--did
this cup of bitterness escape you? Did you never know the pangs for a
beloved person?"

"Well!" exclaimed the mother with a wave of her hand. "What sort of a
pang? The fear they had whether they won't marry me off to this man or
that man?"

"And you liked no one?"

She thought a little, and answered:

"I don't recall, my dear! How can it be that I didn't like anybody? I
suppose there was somebody I was fond of, but I don't remember."

She looked at him, and concluded simply, with sad composure: "My
husband beat me a lot; and everything that was before him was effaced
from my soul."

Nikolay turned back to the table; the mother walked out of the room for
a minute. On her return Nikolay looked at her kindly and began to
speak softly and lovingly. His reminiscences stroked her like a caress.

"And I, you see, was like Sashenka. I loved a girl: a marvelous
being, a wonder, a--guiding star; she was gentle and bright for me. I
met her about twenty years ago, and from that time on I loved her. And
I love her now, too, to speak the truth. I love her all so--with my
whole soul--gratefully--forever!"

Standing by his side the mother saw his eyes lighted from within by a
clear, warm light. His hands folded over the back of the chair, and
his head leaning on them, he looked into the distance; his whole body,
lean and slender, but powerful, seemed to strive upward, like the stalk
of a plant toward the sun.

"Why didn't you marry? You should have!"

"Oh, she's been married five years!"

"And before that--what was the matter? Didn't she love you?"

He thought a while, and answered:

"Yes, apparently she loved me; I'm certain she did. But, you see, it
was always this way: I was in prison, she was free; I was free, she
was in prison or in exile. That's very much like Sasha's position,
really.