nessed, and half an hour later were driving along the high road.

XXI

THE sky was overcast with low-hanging clouds, and though it was light
enough to see the cart-ruts winding along the road, still to the right
and left no separate object could be distinguished, everything blending
together into dark, heavy masses. It was a dim, unsettled kind of night;
the wind blew in terrific gusts, bringing with it the scent of rain and
wheat, which covered the broad fields. When they passed the oak which
served as a signpost and turned down a by-road, driving became more
difficult, the narrow track being quite lost at times. The coach moved
along at a slower pace.

"I hope we're not going to lose our way!" Nejdanov remarked; he had been
quite silent until then.

"I don't think so," Markelov responded. "Two misfortunes never happen in
one day."

"But what was the first misfortune?"

"A day wasted for nothing. Is that of no importance?"

"Yes... certainly... and then this Golushkin! We shouldn't have drank so
much wine. My head is simply splitting."

"I wasn't thinking of Golushkin. We got some money from him at any rate,
so our visit wasn't altogether wasted."

"But surely you're not really sorry that Paklin took us to his... what
did he call them... poll-parrots?

"As for that, there's nothing to be either sorry or glad about. I'm not
interested in such people. That wasn't the misfortune I was referring
to."

"What was it then?"

Markelov made no reply, but withdrew himself a little further into his
corner, as if he were muffling himself up. Nejdanov could not see his
face very clearly, only his moustache stood out in a straight black
line, but he had felt ever since the morning that there was something in
Markelov that was best left alone, some mysteriously unknown worry.

"I say, Sergai Mihailovitch," Nejdanov began, "do you really attach any
importance to Mr. Kisliakov's letters that you gave me today? They are
utter nonsense, if you'll excuse my saying so."

Markelov drew himself up.

"In the first place," he began angrily, "I don't agree with you about
these letters--I find them extremely interesting... and conscientious!
In the second place, Kisliakov works very hard and, what is more, he is
in earnest; he BELIEVES in our cause, believes in the revolution! And
I must say that you, Alexai Dmitritch, are very luke-warm--YOU don't
believe in our cause!"

"What makes you think so?" Nejdanov asked slo