have happened! I would have looked after her quite differently!"
Sipiagin listened to her indulgently, sympathetically, but with a severe
expression on his face. He continued standing in a stooping position
without moving his head so long as she held her arms round his
shoulders; he called her an angel, kissed her on the forehead, declared
that he now knew what course he must pursue as head of the house,
and went out, carrying himself like an energetic humane man, who was
conscious of having to perform an unpleasant but necessary duty.

At eight o'clock, after dinner, Nejdanov was sitting in his room writing
to his friend Silin.

"MY DEAR VLADIMIR,--I write to you at a critical moment of my life. I
have been dismissed from this house, I am going away from here. That in
itself would be nothing--I am not going alone. The girl I wrote to you
about is coming with me. We are drawn together by the similarity of our
fate in life, by our loneliness, convictions, aspirations, and, above
all, by our mutual love. Yes, we love each other. I am convinced that
I could not experience the passion of love in any other form than that
which presents itself to me now. But I should not be speaking the
truth if I were to say that I had no mysterious fear, no misgivings at
heart... Everything in front of us is enveloped in darkness and we are
plunging into that darkness. I need not tell you what we are going
for and what we have chosen to do. Mariana and I are not in search of
happiness or vain delight; we want to enter the fight together, side by
side, supporting each other. Our aim is clear to us, but we do not know
the roads that lead to it. Shall we find, if not help and sympathy at
any rate, the opportunity to work? Mariana is a wonderfully honest girl.
Should we be fated to perish, I will not blame myself for having enticed
her away, because now no other life is possible for her. But, Vladimir,
Vladimir! I feel so miserable... I am torn by doubt, not in my feelings
towards her, of course, but... I do not know! And it is too late to turn
back. Stretch out your hands to us from afar, and wish us patience, the
power of self-sacrifice, and love... most of all love. And ye, Russian
people, unknown to us, but beloved by us with all the force of our
beings, with our hearts' blood, receive us in your midst, be kind to us,
and teach us what we may expect from you. Goodbye, Vladimir, goodbye!"

Having finished these few lines Nejdanov set out f