s the only
one missing and his absence was a heavy load on Ilusha's heart. Perhaps
the bitterest of all his bitter memories was his stabbing Krassotkin, who
had been his one friend and protector. Clever little Smurov, who was the
first to make it up with Ilusha, thought it was so. But when Smurov hinted
to Krassotkin that Alyosha wanted to come and see him about something, the
latter cut him short, bidding Smurov tell "Karamazov" at once that he knew
best what to do, that he wanted no one's advice, and that, if he went to
see Ilusha, he would choose his own time for he had "his own reasons."

That was a fortnight before this Sunday. That was why Alyosha had not been
to see him, as he had meant to. But though he waited, he sent Smurov to
him twice again. Both times Krassotkin met him with a curt, impatient
refusal, sending Alyosha a message not to bother him any more, that if he
came himself, he, Krassotkin, would not go to Ilusha at all. Up to the
very last day, Smurov did not know that Kolya meant to go to Ilusha that
morning, and only the evening before, as he parted from Smurov, Kolya
abruptly told him to wait at home for him next morning, for he would go
with him to the Snegiryovs', but warned him on no account to say he was
coming, as he wanted to drop in casually. Smurov obeyed. Smurov's fancy
that Kolya would bring back the lost dog was based on the words Kolya had
dropped that "they must be asses not to find the dog, if it was alive."
When Smurov, waiting for an opportunity, timidly hinted at his guess about
the dog, Krassotkin flew into a violent rage. "I'm not such an ass as to
go hunting about the town for other people's dogs when I've got a dog of
my own! And how can you imagine a dog could be alive after swallowing a
pin? Sheepish sentimentality, that's what it is!"

For the last fortnight Ilusha had not left his little bed under the ikons
in the corner. He had not been to school since the day he met Alyosha and
bit his finger. He was taken ill the same day, though for a month
afterwards he was sometimes able to get up and walk about the room and
passage. But latterly he had become so weak that he could not move without
help from his father. His father was terribly concerned about him. He even
gave up drinking and was almost crazy with terror that his boy would die.
And often, especially after leading him round the room on his arm and
putting him back to bed, he would run to a dark corner in the passage and,