intensely. Levin
involuntarily thought with him of what it was that was happening
to him now, but in spite of all his mental efforts to go along
with him he saw by the expression of that calm, stern face that
for the dying man all was growing clearer and clearer that was
still as dark as ever for Levin.

"Yes, yes, so," the dying man articulated slowly at intervals.
"Wait a little." He was silent. "Right!" he pronounced all at
once reassuringly, as though all were solved for him. "O Lord!"
he murmured, and sighed deeply.

Marya Nikolaevna felt his feet. "They're getting cold," she
whispered.

For a long while, a very long while it seemed to Levin, the sick
man lay motionless. But he was still alive, and from time to
time he sighed. Levin by now was exhausted from mental strain.
He felt that, with no mental effort, could he understand what it
was that was _right_. He could not even think of the problem of
death itself, but with no will of his own thoughts kept coming to
him of what he had to do next; closing the dead man's eyes,
dressing him, ordering the coffin. And, strange to say, he felt
utterly cold, and was not conscious of sorrow nor of loss, less
still of pity for his brother. If he had any feeling for his
brother at that moment, it was envy for the knowledge the dying
man had now that he could not have.

A long time more he sat over him so, continually expecting the
end. But the end did not come. The door opened and Kitty
appeared. Levin got up to stop her. But at the moment he was
getting up, he caught the sound of the dying man stirring.

"Don't go away," said Nikolay and held out his hand. Levin gave
him his, and angrily waved to his wife to go away.

With the dying man's hand in his hand, he sat for half an hour,
an hour, another hour. He did not think of death at all now. He
wondered what Kitty was doing; who lived in the next room;
whether the doctor lived in a house of his own. He longed for
food and for sleep. He cautiously drew away his hand and felt
the feet. The feet were cold, but the sick man was still
breathing. Levin tried again to move away on tiptoe, but the
sick man stirred again and said: "Don't go."

* * * * * * * *

The dawn came; the sick man's condition was unchanged. Levin
stealthily withdrew his hand, and without looking at the dying
man, went off to his own room and went to sleep. When he woke
up, instead of news of his brother's death which