ing Vera in Pyatigorsk struck my heart like a hammer. For one
minute, again to see her for one minute, to say farewell, to press her
hand... I prayed, cursed, wept, laughed... No, nothing could express
my anxiety, my despair!... Now that it seemed possible that I might be
about to lose her for ever, Vera became dearer to me than aught in the
world--dearer than life, honour, happiness! God knows what strange, what
mad plans swarmed in my head... Meanwhile I still galloped, urging on
my horse without pity. And, now, I began to notice that he was breathing
more heavily; he had already stumbled once or twice on level ground...
I was five versts from Essentuki--a Cossack village where I could change
horses.

All would have been saved had my horse been able to hold out for another
ten minutes. But suddenly, in lifting himself out of a little gulley
where the road emerges from the mountains at a sharp turn, he fell to
the ground. I jumped down promptly, I tried to lift him up, I tugged at
his bridle--in vain. A scarcely audible moan burst through his clenched
teeth; in a few moments he expired. I was left on the steppe, alone;
I had lost my last hope. I endeavoured to walk--my legs sank under me;
exhausted by the anxieties of the day and by sleeplessness, I fell upon
the wet grass and burst out crying like a child.

For a long time I lay motionless and wept bitterly, without attempting
to restrain my tears and sobs. I thought my breast would burst. All
my firmness, all my coolness, disappeared like smoke; my soul grew
powerless, my reason silent, and, if anyone had seen me at that moment,
he would have turned aside with contempt.

When the night-dew and the mountain breeze had cooled my burning brow,
and my thoughts had resumed their usual course, I realized that to
pursue my perished happiness would be unavailing and unreasonable.
What more did I want?--To see her?--Why? Was not all over between us? A
single, bitter, farewell kiss would not have enriched my recollections,
and, after it, parting would only have been more difficult for us.

Still, I am pleased that I can weep. Perhaps, however, the cause of
that was my shattered nerves, a night passed without sleep, two minutes
opposite the muzzle of a pistol, and an empty stomach.

It is all for the best. That new suffering created within me a fortunate
diversion--to speak in military style. To weep is healthy, and then,
no doubt, if I had not ridden as I did and had not b