he stretched out to the monk. "Andryusha! Whom?"

"Oh! Whom?" said Kovrin in confusion. "Why, to him. . . . He is
sitting here," he said, pointing to the black monk.

"There is no one here . . . no one! Andryusha, you are ill!"

Tanya put her arm round her husband and held him tight, as though
protecting him from the apparition, and put her hand over his eyes.

"You are ill!" she sobbed, trembling all over. "Forgive me, my
precious, my dear one, but I have noticed for a long time that your
mind is clouded in some way. . . . You are mentally ill, Andryusha
. . . ."

Her trembling infected him, too. He glanced once more at the
arm-chair, which was now empty, felt a sudden weakness in his arms
and legs, was frightened, and began dressing.

"It's nothing, Tanya; it's nothing," he muttered, shivering. "I
really am not quite well . . . it's time to admit that."

"I have noticed it for a long time . . . and father has noticed
it," she said, trying to suppress her sobs. "You talk to yourself,
smile somehow strangely . . . and can't sleep. Oh, my God, my God,
save us!" she said in terror. "But don't be frightened, Andryusha;
for God's sake don't be frightened. . . ."

She began dressing, too. Only now, looking at her, Kovrin realised
the danger of his position--realised the meaning of the black