re unfolded before one views such as one does
not see near Moscow--immense, endless, fascinating in their
monotony. The steppe, the steppe, and nothing more; in the distance
an ancient barrow or a windmill; ox-waggons laden with coal trail
by. . . . Solitary birds fly low over the plain, and a drowsy feeling
comes with the monotonous beat of their wings. It is hot. Another
hour or so passes, and still the steppe, the steppe, and still in
the distance the barrow. The driver tells you something, some long
unnecessary tale, pointing into the distance with his whip. And
tranquillity takes possession of the soul; one is loth to think of
the past. . . .

A carriage with three horses had been sent to fetch Vera Ivanovna
Kardin. The driver put in her luggage and set the harness to rights.

"Everything just as it always has been," said Vera, looking about
her. "I was a little girl when I was here last, ten years ago. I
remember old Boris came to fetch me then. Is he still living, I
wonder?"

The driver made no reply, but, like a Little Russian, looked at her
angrily and clambered on to the box.

It was a twenty-mile drive from the station, and Vera, too, abandoned
herself to the charm of the steppe, forgot the past, and thought
only of the wide expanse, of the freedom. Healthy, clever, beautiful,
and young--she was only three-and-twenty--she had hitherto
lacked nothing in her life but just this space and freedom.

The steppe, the steppe. . . . The horses trotted, the sun rose
higher and higher; and it seemed to Vera that never in her childhood
had the steppe been so rich, so luxuriant in June; the wild flowers
were green, yellow, lilac, white, and a fragrance rose from them
and from the warmed earth; and there were strange blue birds along
the roadside. . . . Vera had long got out of the habit of praying,
but now, struggling with drowsiness, she murmured:

"Lord, grant that I may be happy here."

And there was peace and sweetness in her soul, and she felt as
though she would have been glad to drive like that all her life,
looking at the steppe.

Suddenly there was a deep ravine overgrown with oak saplings and
alder-trees; there was a moist feeling in the air--there must
have been a spring at the bottom. On the near side, on the very
edge of the ravine, a covey of partridges rose noisily. Vera
remembered that in old days they used to go for evening walks to
this ravine; so it must be near home! And now she could actual