mes lifts his stick from old
habit, but he never beats them."

Auntie Dasha yawned and crossed herself over her mouth and her right
ear.

"It's not dull here?" Vera inquired.

"What shall I say? There are no landowners living here now, but
there have been works built near, darling, and there are lots of
engineers, doctors, and mine managers. Of course, we have theatricals
and concerts, but we play cards more than anything. They come to
us, too. Dr. Neshtchapov from the works comes to see us--such a
handsome, interesting man! He fell in love with your photograph. I
made up my mind: he is Verotchka's destiny, I thought. He's young,
handsome, he has means--a good match, in fact. And of course
you're a match for any one. You're of good family. The place is
mortgaged, it's true, but it's in good order and not neglected;
there is my share in it, but it will all come to you; I am your
willing slave. And my brother, your father, left you fifteen thousand
roubles. . . . But I see you can't keep your eyes open. Sleep, my
child."

Next day Vera spent a long time walking round the house. The garden,
which was old and unattractive, lying inconveniently upon the slope,
had no paths, and was utterly neglected; probably the care of it
was regarded as an unnecessary item in the management. There were
numbers of grass-snakes. Hoopoes flew about under the trees calling
"Oo-too-toot!" as though they were trying to remind her of something.
At the bottom of the hill there was a river overgrown with tall
reeds, and half a mile beyond the river was the village. From the
garden Vera went out into the fields; looking into the distance,
thinking of her new life in her own home, she kept trying to grasp
what was in store for her. The space, the lovely peace of the steppe,
told her that happiness was near at hand, and perhaps was here
already; thousands of people, in fact, would have said: "What
happiness to be young, healthy, well-educated, to be living on one's
own estate!" And at the same time the endless plain, all alike,
without one living soul, frightened her, and at moments it was clear
to her that its peaceful green vastness would swallow up her life
and reduce it to nothingness. She was very young, elegant, fond of
life; she had finished her studies at an aristocratic boarding-school,
had learnt three languages, had read a great deal, had travelled
with her father--and could all this have been meant to lead to
nothing but settling d