though it was still falling in big flakes; they were whirling rapidly
round and round in the air and chasing one another in white clouds
along the railway line. And the oak forest on both sides of the
line, in the dim light of the moon which was hidden somewhere high
up in the clouds, resounded with a prolonged sullen murmur. When a
violent storm shakes the trees, how terrible they are! Matvey walked
along the causeway beside the line, covering his face and his hands,
while the wind beat on his back. All at once a little nag, plastered
all over with snow, came into sight; a sledge scraped along the
bare stones of the causeway, and a peasant, white all over, too,
with his head muffled up, cracked his whip. Matvey looked round
after him, but at once, as though it had been a vision, there was
neither sledge nor peasant to be seen, and he hastened his steps,
suddenly scared, though he did not know why.

Here was the crossing and the dark little house where the signalman
lived. The barrier was raised, and by it perfect mountains had
drifted and clouds of snow were whirling round like witches on
broomsticks. At that point the line was crossed by an old highroad,
which was still called "the track." On the right, not far from the
crossing, by the roadside stood Terehov's tavern, which had been a
posting inn. Here there was always a light twinkling at night.

When Matvey reached home there was a strong smell of incense in all
the rooms and even in the entry. His cousin Yakov Ivanitch was still
reading the evening service. In the prayer-room where this was going
on, in the corner opposite the door, there stood a shrine of
old-fashioned ancestral ikons in gilt settings, and both walls to
right and to left were decorated with ikons of ancient and modern
fashion, in shrines and without them. On the table, which was draped