s me."

"What? Lord Jesus Christ. . . . That's the way. Come, sleep well,
your holiness! . . . What's the good of talking? It's no use.
Good-night!"

The bishop did not sleep all night. And at eight o'clock in the
morning he began to have hemorrhage from the bowels. The lay brother
was alarmed, and ran first to the archimandrite, then for the
monastery doctor, Ivan Andreyitch, who lived in the town. The doctor,
a stout old man with a long grey beard, made a prolonged examination
of the bishop, and kept shaking his head and frowning, then said:

"Do you know, your holiness, you have got typhoid?"

After an hour or so of hemorrhage the bishop looked much thinner,
paler, and wasted; his face looked wrinkled, his eyes looked bigger,
and he seemed older, shorter, and it seemed to him that he was
thinner, weaker, more insignificant than any one, that everything
that had been had retreated far, far away and would never go on
again or be repeated.

"How good," he thought, "how good!"

His old mother came. Seeing his wrinkled face and his big eyes, she
was frightened, she fell on her knees by the bed and began kissing
his face, his shoulders, his hands. And to her, too, it seemed that
he was thinner, weaker, and more insignificant than anyone, and now
she forgot that he was a bishop, and kissed him as though he were
a child very near and very dear to her.

"Pavlusha, darling," she said; "my own, my darling son! . . . Why
are you like this? Pavlusha, answer me!"

Katya, pale and severe, stood beside her, unable to understand what
was the matter with her uncle, why there was such a look of suffering
on her grandmother's face, why she was saying such sad and touching
things. By now he could not utter a word, he could understand
nothing, and he imagined he was a simple ordinary man, that he was
walking quickly, cheerfully through the fields, tapping with his
stick, while above him was the open sky bathed in sunshine, and
that he was free now as a bird and could go where he liked!

"Pavlusha, my darling son, answer me," the old woman was saying.
"What is it? My own!"

"Don't disturb his holiness," Sisoy said angrily, walking about the
room. "Let him sleep . . . what's the use . . . it's no good. . . ."

Three doctors arrived, consulted together, and went away again. The
day was long, incredibly long, then the night came on and passed
slowly, slowly, and towards morning on Saturday the lay brother
went in to the old mot