something and
shuddered with the thought of the past, he stroked her hair, and
looking into her face, realised that this unhappy, sinful woman was
the one creature near and dear to him, whom no one could replace.

When he went out of the house and got into the carriage he wanted
to return home alive.

XVIII

The deacon got up, dressed, took his thick, gnarled stick and slipped
quietly out of the house. It was dark, and for the first minute
when he went into the street, he could not even see his white stick.
There was not a single star in the sky, and it looked as though
there would be rain again. There was a smell of wet sand and sea.

"It's to be hoped that the mountaineers won't attack us," thought
the deacon, hearing the tap of the stick on the pavement, and
noticing how loud and lonely the taps sounded in the stillness of
the night.

When he got out of town, he began to see both the road and his
stick. Here and there in the black sky there were dark cloudy
patches, and soon a star peeped out and timidly blinked its one
eye. The deacon walked along the high rocky coast and did not see
the sea; it was slumbering below, and its unseen waves broke languidly
and heavily on the shore, as though sighing "Ouf!" and how slowly!
One wave broke--the deacon had time to count eight steps; then
another broke, and six steps; later a third. As before, nothing
could be seen, and in the darkness one could hear the languid,
drowsy drone of the sea. One could hear the infinitely faraway,
inconceivable time when God moved above chaos.

The deacon felt uncanny. He hoped God would not punish him for
keeping company with infidels, and even going to look at their
duels. The duel would be nonsensical, bloodless, absurd, but however
that might be, it was a heathen spectacle, and it was altogether
unseemly for an ecclesiastical person to be present at it. He stopped
and wondered--should he go back? But an intense, restless curiosity
triumphed over his doubts, and he went on.

"Though they are infidels they are good people, and will be saved,"
he assured himself. "They are sure to be saved," he said aloud,
lighting a cigarette.

By what standard must one measure men's qualities, to judge rightly
of them? The deacon remembered his enemy, the inspector of the
clerical school, who believed in God, lived in chastity, and did
not fight duels; but he used to feed the deacon on bread with sand
in it, and on one occasion almost pulled off t