the direction of the older city. He suffered himself to be led a few steps
in silence.

"Where are you going, Vjera?" he asked, stopping again and looking into
her face.

"Wherever you like," she said, trying to speak cheerfully. She saw that
something terrible was happening, and it was only by a desperate effort
that she controlled the violent hysterical emotion that rose like a great
lump in her throat.

"Ah, that is it, Vjera," he answered. "That is it. Where shall I go,
child?" Then he laughed nervously. "The fact is," he continued, "that I am
in a very absurd position. I do not at all know what to do."

Perhaps he had tried to give himself courage by the attempt to laugh, but,
in that case, he had failed for the present. In spite of his words his
despair was evident. His usually erect carriage was gone. His head sank
wearily forward, his shoulders rounded themselves as though under a
burden, his feet dragged a little as he tried to walk on again, and he
leaned heavily on the young girl's arm.

"What is it?" she asked. "Tell me--perhaps I can help you--I mean--I beg
your pardon," she added, humbly, "perhaps it would help you to speak of
it. That sometimes makes things seem clearer just when they have been most
confused."

"Perhaps so, Vjera, perhaps so. You are a very good girl, and you came
just in time. I love you, Vjera--do not forget that I love you." His voice
was by turns sharp and suddenly low and monotonous, like that of a man