him only that day? They had
spent that hour and a half plying Nastasya with questions. She was
standing before them and had told them everything by now. They were
beside themselves with alarm when they heard of his "running away"
to-day, ill and, as they understood from her story, delirious! "Good
Heavens, what had become of him?" Both had been weeping, both had been
in anguish for that hour and a half.

A cry of joy, of ecstasy, greeted Raskolnikov's entrance. Both rushed to
him. But he stood like one dead; a sudden intolerable sensation struck
him like a thunderbolt. He did not lift his arms to embrace them, he
could not. His mother and sister clasped him in their arms, kissed him,
laughed and cried. He took a step, tottered and fell to the ground,
fainting.

Anxiety, cries of horror, moans... Razumihin who was standing in the
doorway flew into the room, seized the sick man in his strong arms and
in a moment had him on the sofa.

"It's nothing, nothing!" he cried to the mother and sister--"it's only a
faint, a mere trifle! Only just now the doctor said he was much better,
that he is perfectly well! Water! See, he is coming to himself, he is
all right again!"

And seizing Dounia by the arm so that he almost dislocated it, he made
her bend down to see that "he is all right again." The mother and sister
looked on him with emotion and gratitude, as their Providence. They
had heard already from Nastasya all that had been done for their Rodya
during his illness, by this "very competent young man," as Pulcheria
Alexandrovna Raskolnikov called him that evening in conversation with
Dounia.

PART III

CHAPTER I

Raskolnikov got up, and sat down on the sofa. He waved his hand weakly
to Razumihin to cut short the flow of warm and incoherent consolations
he was addressing to his mother and sister, took them both by the hand
and for a minute or two gazed from one to the other without speaking.
His mother was alarmed by his expression. It revealed an emotion
agonisingly poignant, and at the same time something immovable, almost
insane. Pulcheria Alexandrovna began to cry.

Avdotya Romanovna was pale; her hand trembled in her brother's.

"Go home... with him," he said in a broken voice, pointing to Razumihin,
"good-bye till to-morrow; to-morrow everything... Is it long since you
arrived?"

"This evening, Rodya," answered Pulcheria Alexandrovna, "the train was
awfully late. But, Rodya, nothing would induce me