watching over me then," Mitya himself said afterwards. At that
very moment Grigory waked up on his bed of sickness. Earlier in the
evening he had undergone the treatment which Smerdyakov had described to
Ivan. He had rubbed himself all over with vodka mixed with a secret, very
strong decoction, had drunk what was left of the mixture while his wife
repeated a "certain prayer" over him, after which he had gone to bed.
Marfa Ignatyevna had tasted the stuff, too, and, being unused to strong
drink, slept like the dead beside her husband.

But Grigory waked up in the night, quite suddenly, and, after a moment's
reflection, though he immediately felt a sharp pain in his back, he sat up
in bed. Then he deliberated again, got up and dressed hurriedly. Perhaps
his conscience was uneasy at the thought of sleeping while the house was
unguarded "in such perilous times." Smerdyakov, exhausted by his fit, lay
motionless in the next room. Marfa Ignatyevna did not stir. "The stuff's
been too much for the woman," Grigory thought, glancing at her, and
groaning, he went out on the steps. No doubt he only intended to look out
from the steps, for he was hardly able to walk, the pain in his back and
his right leg was intolerable. But he suddenly remembered that he had not
locked the little gate into the garden that evening. He was the most
punctual and precise of men, a man who adhered to an unchangeable routine,
and habits that lasted for years. Limping and writhing with pain he went
down the steps and towards the garden. Yes, the gate stood wide open.
Mechanically he stepped into the garden. Perhaps he fancied something,
perhaps caught some sound, and, glancing to the left he saw his master's
window open. No one was looking out of it then.

"What's it open for? It's not summer now," thought Grigory, and suddenly,
at that very instant he caught a glimpse of something extraordinary before
him in the garden. Forty paces in front of him a man seemed to be running
in the dark, a sort of shadow was moving very fast.

"Good Lord!" cried Grigory beside himself, and forgetting the pain in his
back, he hurried to intercept the running figure. He took a short cut,
evidently he knew the garden better; the flying figure went towards the
bath-house, ran behind it and rushed to the garden fence. Grigory
followed, not losing sight of him, and ran, forgetting everything. He
reached the fence at the very moment the man was climbing over it. Grigory
cried o