you
love me?" he whispered, and caressed her knees.

"Get up," he heard her voice, "get up, Fedor Ivanitch. What are we
doing?"

He got up and sat beside her on the seat. She was not weeping now, and
she looked at him steadfastly with her wet eyes.

"It frightens me: what are we doing?" she repeated.

"I love you," he said again. "I am ready to devote my whole life to
you."

She shuddered again, as though something had stung her, and lifted her
eyes towards heaven.

"All that is in God's hands," she said.

"But you love me, Lisa? We shall be happy." She dropped her eyes; he
softly drew her to him, and her head sank on to his shoulder.... He bent
his head a little and touched her pale lips.

Half an hour later Lavretsky was standing before the little garden gate.
He found it locked and was obliged to get over the fence. He returned
to the town and walked along the slumbering streets. A sense of immense,
unhoped-for happiness filled his soul; all his doubts had died away.
"Away, dark phantom of the past," he thought. "She loves me, she will
be mine." Suddenly it seemed to him that in the air over his head were
floating strains of divine triumphant music. He stood still. The music
resounded in still greater magnificence; a mighty flood of melody--and
all his bliss seemed speaking and singing in its strains. He looked
about him; the music floated down from two upper windows of a small
house.

"Lemm?" cried Lavretsky as he ran to the house. "Lemm! Lemm!" he
repeated aloud.

The sounds died away and the figure of the old man in a dressing-gown,
with his throat bare and his hair dishevelled, appeared at the window.

"Aha!" he said with dignity, "is it you?"

"Christopher Fedoritch, what marvellous music! for mercy's sake, let me
in."

Without uttering a word, the old man with a majestic flourish of the arm
dropped the key of the street door from the window.

Lavretsky hastened up-stairs, went into the room and was about to rush
up to Lemm; but the latter imperiously motioned him to a seat, saying
abruptly in Russian, "Sit down and listen," sat down himself to the
piano, and looking proudly and severely about him, he began to play.
It was long since Lavretsky had listened to anything like it. The sweet
passionate melody went to his heart from the first note; it was glowing
and languishing with inspiration, happiness and beauty; it swelled and
melted away; it touched on all that is precious, mysterious, a