h this. . . . I am not equal to it. . . ."

Andrey Yefimitch went to the door and opened it, but at once Nikita
jumped up and barred his way.

"Where are you going? You can't, you can't!" he said. "It's bedtime."

"But I'm only going out for a minute to walk about the yard," said
Andrey Yefimitch.

"You can't, you can't; it's forbidden. You know that yourself."

"But what difference will it make to anyone if I do go out?" asked
Andrey Yefimitch, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't understand.
Nikita, I must go out!" he said in a trembling voice. "I must."

"Don't be disorderly, it's not right," Nikita said peremptorily.

"This is beyond everything," Ivan Dmitritch cried suddenly, and he
jumped up. "What right has he not to let you out? How dare they
keep us here? I believe it is clearly laid down in the law that no
one can be deprived of freedom without trial! It's an outrage! It's
tyranny!"

"Of course it's tyranny," said Andrey Yefimitch, encouraged by Ivan
Dmitritch's outburst. "I must go out, I want to. He has no right!
Open, I tell you."

"Do you hear, you dull-witted brute?" cried Ivan Dmitritch, and he
banged on the door with his fist. "Open the door, or I will break
it open! Torturer!"

"Open the door," cried Andrey Yefimitch, trembling all over; "I
insist!"

"Talk away!" Nikita answered through the door, "talk away. . . ."

"Anyhow, go and call Yevgeny Fyodoritch! Say that I beg him to come
for a minute!"

"His honour will come of himself to-morrow."

"They will never let us out," Ivan Dmitritch was going on meanwhile.
"They will leave us to rot here! Oh, Lord, can there really be no
hell in the next world, and will these wretches be forgiven? Where
is justice? Open the door, you wretch! I am choking!" he cried in
a hoarse voice, and flung himself upon the door. "I'll dash out my
brains, murderers!"

Nikita opened the door quickly, and roughly with both his hands and
his knee shoved Andrey Yefimitch back, then swung his arm and punched
him in the face with his fist. It seemed to Andrey Yefimitch as
though a huge salt wave enveloped him from his head downwards and
dragged him to the bed; there really was a salt taste in his mouth:
most likely the blood was running from his teeth. He waved his arms
as though he were trying to swim out and clutched at a bedstead,
and at the same moment felt Nikita hit him twice on the back.

Ivan Dmitritch gave a loud scream. He must have been beaten too.

The