owl, lifted it higher that
his head, and dashed it with all his force to the ground, so that
it flew into fragments. "Don't dare to speak!" he cried in a furious
voice, though Matvey had not said a word. "Don't dare!" he repeated,
and struck his fist on the table.

Matvey turned pale and got up.

"Brother!" he said, still munching--"brother, think what you are
about!"

"Out of my house this minute!" shouted Yakov; he loathed Matvey's
wrinkled face, and his voice, and the crumbs on his moustache, and
the fact that he was munching. "Out, I tell you!"

"Brother, calm yourself! The pride of hell has confounded you!"

"Hold your tongue!" (Yakov stamped.) "Go away, you devil!"

"If you care to know," Matvey went on in a loud voice, as he, too,
began to get angry, "you are a backslider from God and a heretic.
The accursed spirits have hidden the true light from you; your
prayer is not acceptable to God. Repent before it is too late! The
deathbed of the sinner is terrible! Repent, brother!"

Yakov seized him by the shoulders and dragged him away from the
table, while he turned whiter than ever, and frightened and bewildered,
began muttering, "What is it? What's the matter?" and, struggling
and making efforts to free himself from Yakov's hands, he accidentally
caught hold of his shirt near the neck and tore the collar; and it
seemed to Aglaia that he was trying to beat Yakov. She uttered a
shriek, snatched up the bottle of Lenten oil and with all her force
brought it down straight on the skull of the cousin she hated.
Matvey reeled, and in one instant his face became calm and indifferent.
Yakov, breathing heavily, excited, and feeling pleasure at the
gurgle the bottle had made, like a living thing, when it had struck
the head, kept him from falling and several times (he remembered
this very distinctly) motioned Aglaia towards the iron with his
finger; and only when the blood began trickling through his hands
and he heard Dashutka's loud wail, and when the ironing-board fell
with a crash, and Matvey rolled heavily on it, Yakov left off feeling
anger and understood what had happened.

"Let him rot, the factory buck!" Aglaia brought out with repulsion,
still keeping the iron in her hand. The white bloodstained kerchief
slipped on to her shoulders and her grey hair fell in disorder.
"He's got what he deserved!"

Everything was terrible. Dashutka sat on the floor near the stove
with the yarn in her hands, sobbing, and con