faster! I could not have sat at it any longer; wake me at eight o'clock.'
Without finishing his sentence, he dropped asleep and slept like the dead.
'Mavra,' said Arkady Ivanovitch to Mavra, who came in with the tea, 'he asked to be waked in an hour. Don't wake him on any account! Let him sleep ten hours, if he can. Do you understand?'
'I understand, sir.'
'Don't get the dinner, don't bring in the wood, don't make a noise or it will be the worse for you. If he asks for me, tell him I have gone to the office—do you understand?'
'I understand, bless you, sir; let him sleep and welcome! I am glad my gentlemen should sleep well, and I take good care of their things. And about that cup that was broken, and you blamed me, your honour, it wasn't me, it was poor pussy broke it, I ought to have kept an eye on her. 'S-sh, you confounded thing,' I said.'
'Hush, be quiet, be quiet!'
Arkady Ivanovitch followed Mavra out into the kitchen, asked for the key and locked her up there. Then he went to the office. On the way he considered how he could present himself before Yulian Mastakovitch, and whether it would be appropriate and not impertinent. He went into the office timidly, and timidly inquired whether His Excellency were there; receiving the answer that he was not and would not be, Arkady Ivanovitch instantly thought of going to his flat, but reflected very prudently that if Yulian Mastakovitch had not come to the office he would certainly be busy at home. He remained. The hours seemed to him endless. Indirectly he inquired about the work entrusted to Shumkov, but no one knew anything about this. All that was known was that Yulian Mastakovitch did employ him on special jobs, but what they were—no one could say. At last it struck three o'clock, and Arkady Ivanovitch rushed out, eager to get home. In the vestibule he was met by a clerk, who told him that Vassily Petrovitch Shumkov had come about one o'clock and asked, the clerk added, 'whether you were here, and whether Yulian Mastakovitch had been here.' Hearing this Arkady Ivanovitch took a sledge and hastened home beside himself with alarm.
Shumkov was at home. He was walking about the room in violent excitement. Glancing at Arkady Ivanovitch, he immediately controlled himself, reflected, and hastened to conceal his emotion. He sat down to his papers without a word. He seemed to avoid his friend's questions, seemed to be bothered by them, to be pondering to himself on some plan, and deciding to conceal his decision, because he could not reckon further on his friend's affection. This struck Arkady, and his heart ached with a poignant and oppressive pain. He sat on the bed and began turning over the leaves of some book, the only one he had in his possession, keeping his eye on poor Vasya. But Vasya remained obstinately silent, writing, and not raising his head. So passed several hours, and Arkady's misery reached an extreme point. At last, at eleven o'clock, Vasya lifted his head and looked with a fixed, vacant stare at Arkady. Arkady waited. Two or three minutes passed; Vasya did not speak.
'Vasya!' cried Arkady.
Vasya made no answer.
'Vasya!' he repeated, jumping up from the bed, 'Vasya, what is the matter with you? What is it?' he cried, running up to him.
Vasya raised his eyes and again looked at him with the same vacant, fixed stare.
'He's in a trance!' thought Arkady, trembling all over with fear. He seized a bottle of water, raised Vasya, poured some water on his head, moistened his temples, rubbed his hands in his own—and Vasya came to himself. 'Vasya, Vasya!' cried Arkady, unable to restrain his tears. 'Vasya, save yourself, rouse yourself, rouse yourself!...' He could say no more, but held him tight in his arms. A look as of some oppressive sensation passed over Vasya's face; he rubbed his forehead and clutched at his head, as though he were afraid it would burst.
'I don't know what is the matter with me,' he added, at last. 'I feel torn to pieces. Come, it's all right, it's all right! Give over, Arkady; don't grieve,' he repeated, looking at him with sad, exhausted eyes. 'Why be so anxious? Come!'
'You, you comforting me!' cried Arkady, whose heart was torn. 'Vasya,' he said at last, 'lie down and have a little nap, won't you? Don't wear yourself out for nothing! You'll set to work better afterwards.'
'Yes, yes,' said Vasya, 'by all means, I'll lie down, very good. Yes! you see I meant to finish, but now I've changed my mind, yes....'
And Arkady led him to the bed.
'Listen, Vasya,' he said firmly, 'we must settle this matter finally. Tell me what were you thinking about?'
'Oh!' said Vasya, with a flourish of his weak hand turning over on the other side.
'Come, Vasya, come, make up your mind. I don't want to hurt you. I can't be silent any longer. You won't sleep till you've made up your mind, I know.'
'As you like, as you like,' Vasya repeated enigmatically.
'He will give in,' thought Arkady Ivanovitch.
'Attend to me, Vasya,' he said, 'remember what I say, and I will save you to-morrow; to-morrow I will decide your fate! What am I saying, your fate? You have so frightened me, Vasya, that I am using your own words. Fate, indeed! It's simply nonsense, rubbish! You don't want to lose Yulian Mastakovitch's favour—affection, if you like. No! And you won't lose it, you will see. I——'
Arkady Ivanovitch would have said more, but Vasya interrupted him. He sat up in bed, put both arms round Arkady Ivanovitch's neck and kissed him.
'Enough,' he said in a weak voice, 'enough! Say no more about that!'
And again he turned his face to the wall.
'My goodness!' thought Arkady, 'my goodness! What is the matter with him? He is utterly lost. What has he in his mind! He will be his own undoing.'
Arkady looked at him in despair.
'If he were to fall ill,' thought Arkady, 'perhaps it would be better. His trouble would pass off with illness, and that might be the best way of settling the whole business. But what nonsense I am talking. Oh, my God!'
Meanwhile Vasya seemed to be asleep. Arkady Ivanovitch was relieved. 'A good sign,' he thought. He made up his mind to sit beside him all night. But Vasya was restless; he kept twitching and tossing about on the bed, and opening his eyes for an instant. At last exhaustion got the upper hand, he slept like the dead. It was about two o'clock in the morning, Arkady Ivanovitch began to doze in the chair with his elbow on the table!
He had a strange and agitated dream. He kept fancying that he was not asleep, and that Vasya was still lying on the bed. But strange to say, he fancied that Vasya was pretending, that he was deceiving him, that he was getting up, stealthily watching him out of the corner of his eye, and was stealing up to the writing table. Arkady felt a scalding pain at his heart; he felt vexed and sad and oppressed to see Vasya not trusting him, hiding and concealing himself from him. He tried to catch hold of him, to call out, to carry him to the bed. Then Vasya kept shrieking in his arms, and he laid on the bed a lifeless corpse. He opened his eyes and woke up; Vasya was sitting before him at the table, writing.
Hardly able to believe his senses, Arkady glanced at the bed; Vasya was not there. Arkady jumped up in a panic, still under the influence of his dream. Vasya did not stir; he went on writing. All at once Arkady noticed with horror that Vasya was moving a dry pen over the paper, was turning over perfectly blank pages, and hurrying, hurrying to fill up the paper as though he were doing his work in a most thorough and efficient way. 'No, this is not a trance,' thought Arkady Ivanovitch, and he trembled all over.
'Vasya, Vasya, speak to me,' he cried, clutching him by the shoulder. But Vasya did not speak; he went on as before, scribbling with a dry pen over the paper.
'At last I have made the pen go faster,' he said, without looking up at Arkady.
Arkady seized his hand and snatched away the pen.
A moan broke from Vasya. He dropped his hand and raised his eyes to Arkady; then with an air of misery and exhaustion he passed his hand over his forehead as though he wanted to shake off some leaden weight that was pressing upon his whole being, and slowly, as though lost in thought, he let his head sink on his breast.
'Vasya, Vasya!' cried Arkady in despair. 'Vasya!'
A minute later Vasya looked at him, tears stood in his large blue eyes, and his pale, mild face wore a look of infinite suffering. He whispered something.
'What, what is it?' cried Arkady, bending down to him.
