l, and the writer of the article is a conservative,
but the thing is interesting and calculated to give one ideas..."

IX

MAY had reached its second half; the first hot summer days had already
set in.

After his history lesson one day, Nejdanov wandered out into the garden,
and from thence into a birch wood adjoining it on one side. Certain
parts of this wood had been cleared by merchants about fifteen years
ago, but these clearings were already densely overgrown by young
birches, whose soft silver trunks encircled by grey rings rose as
straight as pillars, and whose bright green leaves sparkled as if they
had just been washed and polished. The grass shot up in sharp tongues
through the even layers of last years' fallen leaves. Little narrow
paths ran here and there, from which yellow-beaked blackbirds rose with
startled cries, flying close to the earth into the wood as hard as they
could go.

After wandering about for half an hour, Nejdanov sat down on the stump
of a tree, surrounded by old greyish splinters, lying in heaps, exactly
as they had fallen when cut down by the axe. Many a time had these
splinters been covered by the winter's snow and been thawed by the
spring sun, but nobody had touched them.

Nejdanov leaned against a solid wall of young birches casting a heavy
though mild shade. He was not thinking of anything in particular, but
gave himself up to those peculiar sensations of spring which in the
heart of young and old alike are always mixed with a certain degree of
sadness--the keen sadness of awaiting in the young and of settled regret
in the old.

Nejdanov was suddenly awakened by approaching footsteps.

It did not sound like the footsteps of one person, nor like a peasant in
heavy boots, or a barefooted peasant woman; it seemed as if two people
were advancing at a slow, measured pace. The slight rustling of a
woman's dress was heard.

Suddenly a deep man's voice was heard to say:

Is this your last word? Never?

"Never!" a familiar woman's voice repeated, and a moment later from a
bend in the path, hidden from view by a young tree, Mariana appeared,
accompanied by a swarthy man with black eyes, an individual whom
Nejdanov had never seen before.

They both stood still as if rooted to the spot on catching sight of him,
and he was so taken aback that he did not rise from the stump he was
sitting on. Mariana blushed to the roots of her hair, but instantly
gave a contemptuous smile. It