n his fervent prayer he did not beseech God to
lighten his darkness but only thirsted for the joyous emotion, which
always visited his soul after the praise and adoration, of which his
evening prayer usually consisted. That joy always brought him light
untroubled sleep. As he was praying, he suddenly felt in his pocket the
little pink note the servant had handed him as he left Katerina
Ivanovna's. He was disturbed, but finished his prayer. Then, after some
hesitation, he opened the envelope. In it was a letter to him, signed by
Lise, the young daughter of Madame Hohlakov, who had laughed at him before
the elder in the morning.

"Alexey Fyodorovitch," she wrote, "I am writing to you without any one's
knowledge, even mamma's, and I know how wrong it is. But I cannot live
without telling you the feeling that has sprung up in my heart, and this
no one but us two must know for a time. But how am I to say what I want so
much to tell you? Paper, they say, does not blush, but I assure you it's
not true and that it's blushing just as I am now, all over. Dear Alyosha,
I love you, I've loved you from my childhood, since our Moscow days, when
you were very different from what you are now, and I shall love you all my
life. My heart has chosen you, to unite our lives, and pass them together
till our old age. Of course, on condition that you will leave the
monastery. As for our age we will wait for the time fixed by the law. By
that time I shall certainly be quite strong, I shall be walking and
dancing. There can be no doubt of that.

"You see how I've thought of everything. There's only one thing I can't
imagine: what you'll think of me when you read this. I'm always laughing
and being naughty. I made you angry this morning, but I assure you before
I took up my pen, I prayed before the Image of the Mother of God, and now
I'm praying, and almost crying.

"My secret is in your hands. When you come to-morrow, I don't know how I
shall look at you. Ah, Alexey Fyodorovitch, what if I can't restrain
myself like a silly and laugh when I look at you as I did to-day. You'll
think I'm a nasty girl making fun of you, and you won't believe my letter.
And so I beg you, dear one, if you've any pity for me, when you come
to-morrow, don't look me straight in the face, for if I meet your eyes, it
will be sure to make me laugh, especially as you'll be in that long gown.
I feel cold all over when I think of it, so when you come, don't look at
me at al