impossible to decide whether he had come thither by his usual route or
not. It was still harder to explain the reason for his coming, since the
fifty marks were no nearer to his hand than before, and without them it
was useless to think of entering. As he stood there, hesitating and trying
to grasp the situation more clearly, it grew, on the contrary, more and
more confused. At the same time the bells of a neighbouring church struck
the hour, and the clanging tone revived in his mind the other impression,
which had possessed it all day, the impression that his friends were at
that moment arriving at the railway station. The confusion in his thoughts
became intolerable, and he covered his eyes with one hand, steadying
himself by pressing the other against the wall.

He did not know how long he had stood thus, when an anxious voice recalled
him to outer things--a voice in which love, sympathy, tenderness and
anxiety for him had taken possession of the weak tones and lent them a
passing thrill of touching music.

"In Heaven's name--what is it? Speak to me--I am Vjera--here, beside you."

He looked up suddenly, and seemed to recover his self-possession.

"You came just in time, Vjera--God bless you. I--" he hesitated. "I
think--I must have been a little dizzy with the heat. It is a warm
evening--a very warm evening."

He pressed an old silk pocket-handkerchief to his moist brow, the
pocket-handkerchief which he always had about him, freshly ironed and
smoothly folded, on the day when he expected his friends. Vjera, her face
pale with distress, passed her arm through his and made as though she
would walk with him down the gentle slope of the street, which leads in