ed.

'Goodness knows why! Besides, whom can you have wronged? Me? That is
not likely. Any other people in the house here? That, too, is something
incredible. Can it be my brother? But you love him, don't you?'

'I love him.'

'With your whole soul, with your whole heart?'

'I love Nikolai Petrovitch with my whole heart.'

'Truly? Look at me, Fenitchka.' (It was the first time he had called
her that name.) 'You know, it's a great sin telling lies!'

'I am not telling lies, Pavel Petrovitch. Not love Nikolai
Petrovitch--I shouldn't care to live after that.'

'And will you never give him up for any one?'

'For whom could I give him up?'

'For whom indeed! Well, how about that gentleman who has just gone away
from here?'

Fenitchka got up. 'My God, Pavel Petrovitch, what are you torturing me
for? What have I done to you? How can such things be said?'...

'Fenitchka,' said Pavel Petrovitch, in a sorrowful voice, 'you know I
saw ...'

'What did you see?'

'Well, there ... in the arbour.'

Fenitchka crimsoned to her hair and to her ears. 'How was I to blame
for that?' she articulated with an effort.

Pavel Petrovitch raised himself up. 'You were not to blame? No? Not at
all?'

'I love Nikolai Petrovitch, and no one else in the world, and I shall
always love him!' cried Fenitchka with sudden force, while her throat
seemed fairly breaking with sobs. 'As for what you saw, at the dreadful
day of judgment I will say I'm not to blame, and wasn't to blame for
it, and I would rather die at once if people can suspect me of such a
thing against my benefactor, Nikolai Petrovitch.'

But here her voice broke, and at the same time she felt that Pavel
Petrovitch was snatching and pressing her hand.... She looked at him,
and was fairly petrified. He had turned even paler than before; his
eyes were shining, and what was most marvellous of all, one large
solitary tear was rolling down his cheek.

'Fenitchka!' he was saying in a strange whisper; 'love him, love my
brother! Don't give him up for any one in the world; don't listen to
any one else! Think what can be more terrible than to love and not be
loved! Never leave my poor Nikolai!'

Fenitchka's eyes were dry, and her terror had passed away, so great was
her amazement. But what were her feelings when Pavel Petrovitch, Pavel
Petrovitch himself, put her hand to his lips and seemed to pierce into
it without kissing it, and only heaving convulsive sighs from time to
tim