old lady fairly bounded off the bed.

"Cross yourself, Lizochka! gather your senses together! what ever are
you about? Heaven help you!" at last she stammered out. "Lie down and
sleep a little, my darling. And this comes of your want of sleep,
dearest."

Liza raised her head; her cheeks glowed.

"No, aunt," she said, "do not say that. I have prayed, I have asked
God's advice, and I have made up my mind. All is over. My life with
you here is ended. Such lessons are not given to us without a purpose;
besides, it is not for the first time that I think of it now.
Happiness was not for me. Even when I did indulge in hopes of
happiness, my heart shuddered within me. I know all, both my sins and
those of others, and how papa made our money. I know all, and all that
I must pray away, must pray away. I grieve to leave you, I grieve for
mamma and for Lenochka; but there is no help for it. I feel that it is
impossible for me to live here longer. I have already taken leave of
every thing, I have greeted every thing in the house for the last
time. Something calls me away. I am sad at heart, and I would fain
hide myself away for ever. Please don't hinder me or try to dissuade
me; but do help me, or I shall have to go away by myself."

Marfa Timofeevna listened to her niece with horror.

"She is ill," she thought. "She is raving. We must send for a doctor;
but for whom? Gedeonovsky praised some one the other day; but then he
always lies--but perhaps he has actually told the truth this time."

But when she had become convinced that Liza was not ill, and was not
raving--when to all her objections Liza had constantly made the same
reply, Marfa Timofeevna was thoroughly alarmed, and became exceedingly
sorrowful.

"But surely you don't know, my darling, what sort of life they lead in
convents!" thus she began, in hopes of dissuading her. "Why they will
feed you on yellow hemp oil, my own; they will dress you in coarse,
very coarse clothing; they will make you go out in the cold; you will
never be able to bear all this Lizochka. All these ideas of yours are
Agafia's doing. It is she who has driven you out of your senses. But
then she began with living, and with living to her own satisfaction.
Why shouldn't you live too? At all events, let me die in peace, and
then do as you please. And who on earth has ever known any one go into
a convent for the sake of such-a-one--for a goat's beard--God forgive
me--for a man! Why, if you're so sa