ver seen him like this before. All
the while he was talking he kept running from one end of the room to
the other, but he suddenly stood still before me in an extraordinary
attitude.

"Can you suppose," he began again with hysterical haughtiness, looking
me up and down, "can you imagine that I, Stepan Verhovensky, cannot find
in myself the moral strength to take my bag--my beggar's bag--and laying
it on my feeble shoulders to go out at the gate and vanish for ever,
when honour and the great principle of independence demand it! It's
not the first time that Stepan Verhovensky has had to repel despotism by
moral force, even though it be the despotism of a crazy woman, that
is, the most cruel and insulting despotism which can exist on earth,
although you have, I fancy, forgotten yourself so much as to laugh at
my phrase, my dear sir! Oh, you don't believe that I can find the moral
strength in myself to end my life as a tutor in a merchant's family, or
to die of hunger in a ditch! Answer me, answer at once; do you believe
it, or don't you believe it?"

But I was purposely silent. I even affected to hesitate to wound him by
answering in the negative, but to be unable to answer affirmatively. In
all this nervous excitement of his there was something which really did
offend me, and not personally, oh, no! But... I will explain later on.
He positively turned pale.

"Perhaps you are bored with me, G----v (this is my surname), and you
would like... not to come and see me at all?" he said in that tone of
pale composure which usually precedes some extraordinary outburst. I
jumped up in alarm. At that moment Nastasya came in, and, without a
word, handed Stepan Trofimovitch a piece of paper, on which something
was written in pencil. He glanced at it and flung it to me. On the
paper, in Varvara Petrovna's hand three words were written: "Stay at
home."

Stepan Trofimovitch snatched up his hat and stick in silence and went
quickly out of the room. Mechanically I followed him. Suddenly voices
and sounds of rapid footsteps were heard in the passage. He stood still,
as though thunder-struck.

"It's Liputin; I am lost!" he whispered, clutching at my arm.

At the same instant Liputin walked into the room.

IV

Why he should be lost owing to Liputin I did not know, and indeed I
did not attach much significance to the words; I put it all down to his
nerves. His terror, however, was remarkable, and I made up my mind to
keep a carefu