heart-ache still. You seem in trouble now. Here's your handkerchief,
too, wet from tears to be sure. Oh, you young people, you all have the
same sorrow, a terrible woe it is!'

'What sorrow, grannie?'

'Ah, my good young lady, you can't deceive an old woman like me. I
know what your heart is heavy over; your sorrow's not an uncommon
one. Sure, I have been young too, darling. I have been through that
trouble too. Yes. And I'll tell you something, for your goodness to
me; you've won a good man, not a light of love, you cling to him
alone; cling to him stronger than death. If it comes off, it comes
off,--if not, it's in God's hands. Yes. Why are you wondering at me?
I'm a fortune-teller. There, I'll carry away your sorrow with your
handkerchief. I'll carry it away, and it's over. See the rain's
less; you wait a little longer. It's not the first time I've been wet.
Remember, darling; you had a sorrow, the sorrow has flown, and
there's no memory of it. Good Lord, have mercy on us!'

The beggar-woman got up from the edge of the well, went out of the
chapel, and stole off on her way. Elena stared after her in
bewilderment. 'What does this mean?' she murmured involuntarily.

The rain grew less and less, the sun peeped out for an instant. Elena
was just preparing to leave her shelter. . . . Suddenly, ten paces
from the chapel, she saw Insarov. Wrapt in a cloak he was walking
along the very road by which Elena had come; he seemed to be hurrying
home.

She clasped the old rail of the steps for support, and tried to call