g, and now it has come! Rodya, Rodya, where are you going? You
are going away somewhere?"

"Yes."

"That's what I thought! I can come with you, you know, if you need
me. And Dounia, too; she loves you, she loves you dearly--and Sofya
Semyonovna may come with us if you like. You see, I am glad to look upon
her as a daughter even... Dmitri Prokofitch will help us to go together.
But... where... are you going?"

"Good-bye, mother."

"What, to-day?" she cried, as though losing him for ever.

"I can't stay, I must go now...."

"And can't I come with you?"

"No, but kneel down and pray to God for me. Your prayer perhaps will
reach Him."

"Let me bless you and sign you with the cross. That's right, that's
right. Oh, God, what are we doing?"

Yes, he was glad, he was very glad that there was no one there, that
he was alone with his mother. For the first time after all those awful
months his heart was softened. He fell down before her, he kissed her
feet and both wept, embracing. And she was not surprised and did not
question him this time. For some days she had realised that something
awful was happening to her son and that now some terrible minute had
come for him.

"Rodya, my darling, my first born," she said sobbing, "now you are just
as when you were little. You would run like this to me and hug me and
kiss me. When your father was living and we were poor, you comforted us
simply by being with us and when I buried your father, how often we
wept together at his grave and embraced, as now. And if I've been crying
lately, it's that my mother's heart had a foreboding of trouble. The
first time I saw you, that evening, you remember, as soon as we arrived
here, I guessed simply from your eyes. My heart sank at once, and to-day
when I opened the door and looked at you, I thought the fatal hour had
come. Rodya, Rodya, you are not going away to-day?"

"No!"

"You'll come again?"

"Yes... I'll come."

"Rodya, don't be angry, I don't dare to question you. I know I mustn't.
Only say two words to me--is it far where you are going?"

"Very far."

"What is awaiting you there? Some post or career for you?"

"What God sends... only pray for me." Raskolnikov went to the door, but
she clutched him and gazed despairingly into his eyes. Her face worked
with terror.

"Enough, mother," said Raskolnikov, deeply regretting that he had come.

"Not for ever, it's not yet for ever? You'll come, you'll come
to-morrow?"

"I